ALVMNVS  BOOK  FVND 


MESSRS.  ROBERTS  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


REV.    C.   A.    BARTOL'S   NEW  BOOK. 

RADICAL    PROBLEMS. 

BY  REV.  C.  A.  BARTOL,  D.D. 

CONTENTS.  —  Open  Questions;  Individualism;  Transcen 
dentalism;  Radicalism;  Theism;  Naturalism;  Materialism; 
Spiritualism;  Faith;  Law;  Origin;  Correlation;  Character; 
Genius:  Father  Taylor;  Experience;  Hope;  Ideality. 

One  volume,  i6tno.     Cloth*    Price  $2.00. 

/ 

PROFESSOR   PARSONS'S   NEW  BOOK. 

THE  INFINITE  AND  THE  FINITE. 

BY  THEOPHILUS    PARSONS. 

AUTHOR  OF  "  DEUS   HOMO,"   ETC. 

One  neat   i6mo   volume.      Cloth.     Price   $1.00. 

"  No  one  can  know,"  says  the  author,  "  better  than  I  do,  how  poor  and  dim  a 
presentation  of  a  great  truth  my  words  must  give.  But  I  write' them  in  the  hope 
that  they  may  suggest  to  some  minds  what  may  expand  in  their  minds  into  a  truth, 
and,  germinating  there,  grow  and  scatter  seed-truth  widely  abroad.  I  am  sure 
only  of  this :  The  latest  revelation  offers  truths  and  principles  which  promise  to 
give  to  man  a  knowledge  of  the  laws  of  his  being  and  of  his  relation  to  God,  — of 
the  relation  of  the  Infinite  to  the  Finite.  .  .  .  And  therefore  I  believe  that  it  will 
gradually,  —  it  may  be  very  slowly,  so  utterly  does  it  oppose  man's  regenerate 
nature,  — but  it  will  surely  advance  in  its  power  and  in  its  influence,  until,  in  its 
own  time,  it  becomes  what  the  sun  is  in  unclouded  noon." 

Sold  everywhere.    Mailed,  $ost-paid>  by  the  Publishers^ 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,   BOSTON. 


MESSRS.  ROBERTS  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


THE    TO-MORROW    OF    DEATH  ; 

OR, 

THE    FUTURE    LIFE    ACCORDING 
TO    SCIENCE. 

By    LOUIS    FIGUIER. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH,  BY  S.  R.  CROCKER,     i  vol.  i6mo.     #1.75. 


From  the  Literary  World. 

As  its  striking,  if  somewhat  sensational  title  indicates,  the  book  deals  with  the 
question  of  the  future  life,  and  purports  to  present  "  a  complete  theory  of  Nature, 
a  true  philosophy  of  the  Universe."  It  is  based  on  the  ascertained  facts  of  science 
which  the  author  marshals  in  such  a  multitude,  and  with  such  skill,  as  must  com 
mand  the  admiration  of  those  who  dismiss  his  theory  with  a  sneer.  We  doubt  if 
the  marvels  of  astronomy  have  ever  had  so  impressive  a  presentation  in  popular 
form  as  they  have  here.  .  .  . 

The  opening  chapters  of  the  book  treat  of  the  three  elements  which  compose 
man,  —  body,  soul,  and  life.  The  first  is  not  destroyed  by  death,  but  simply  changes 
its  form ;  the  last  is  a  force,  like  light  and  heat,  —  a  mere  state  of  bodies ;  the  soul 
is  indestructible  and  immortal.  After  death,  according  to  M.  Figuier,  the  soul  be 
comes  incarnated  in  a  new  body,  and  makes  part  of  a  new  being  next  superior  to 
man  in  the  scale  of  living  existences,  —  the  superhuman.  This  being  lives  in  the 
eerier  which  surrounds  the  earth  and  the  other  planets,  where,  endowed  with  senses 
and  faculties  like  ours,  infinitely  improved,  and  many  others  that  we  know  nothing 
of,  he  leads  a  life  whose  spiritual  delights  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  imagine.  .  .  . 
Those  who  enjoy  speculations  about  the  future  life  will  find  in  this  book  fresh  and 
pleasant  food  for  their  imaginations ;  and,  to  those  who  delight  in  the  revelations 
of  science  as  to  the  mysteries  that  obscure  the  origin  and  the  destiny  of  man,  these 
pages  offer  a  gallery  of  novel  and  really  marvellous  views.  We  may,  perhaps,  ex 
press  our  opinion  of  "  The  To-Morrow  of  Death  "  at  once  comprehensively  and 
concisely,  by  saying  that  to  every  mind  that  welcomes  light  on  these  grave  ques 
tions,  from  whatever  quarter  and  in  whatever  shape  it  may  come,  regardless  of 
precedents  and  authorities,  this  work  will  yield  exquisite  pleasure.  It  will  shock 
some  readers,  and  amaze  many  ;  but  it  will  fascinate  and  impress  all. 


Sold  everywhere.     Mailed,  post-paid,  by  the  Publishers, 
ROBERTS    BROTHERS,   BOSTON 


THE 


THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 


BY 

HARRIET  PRESCOTT   SPOFFORD, 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  AMBER  GODS,"    "  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS,"  ETC. 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS      BROTHERS. 

1872. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1872,  by 

HARRIET    PRESCOTT    SPOFFORD, 

In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


CAMBRIDGE: 
PRESS  OF  JOHK  WILSON  AND  SON. 


THE    THIEF    IN    THE    NIGHT. 


1. 


THE  garden  lay  sparkling  under  the  earliest  light 
of  a  June  morning.  A  heaven  everywhere  a 
field  of  rose  and  azure  soared  over  it ;  charming 
bird-songs  trilled  from  its  thickets  ;  a  breeze,  that 
was  only  living  fragrance,  rifled  its  roses,  swept 
up  its  avenues,  and  struck  leaf  and  bough  and 
blossom  into  light  before  it  stripped  them  of  their 
dewdrops  in  a  shower.  The  Triton  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  little  lake  sent  up  a  shaft  of  water- 
streams  from  his  horn  to  catch  the  sunbeams  and 
sprinkle  them  over  the  surface  beneath,  and  beds 
of  faintly  blue  forget-me-nots  crept  out  to  meet 
the  pickerel-weed  and  lily-pads,  —  blue  flags, 
and  bluer  weed,  and  waxen-white  lilies  just  un 
clasping  their  petals,  with  here  and  there  a  float 
ing  ball  of  gold  among  them,  —  where  the  breeze 
dipped  again  in  a  shining  ripple,  and  weeds  and 
1 


2  fflE  THiEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

flags  and  lilies  rocked  and  swayed  before  it.  On 
the  one  side,  the  sweet-brier,  climbing  a  pear-tree 
to  reach  the  robin's  nest,  looked  back  with  a 
hundred  blushing  blossoms,  and  blew  a  breath  of 
delight  to  the  damask-rose  on  the  other.  The 
damask  said  good-morning  to  the  moss-rose  ;  the 
moss-rose  to  the  red ;  the  red  would  have  passed 
on  the  cheerful  salutation,  but  the  pale- white 
rose,  upon  its  lofty  stem,  had  been  awake  all 
night,  had  looked  into  the  sick  man's  -chamber, 
and  learned  what  the  ruddy-cheeked  flowers, 
which  hung  their  heads  and  went  to  sleep  with 
the  birds,  were  not  to  know.  Nevertheless,  a 
red-winged  blackbird,  lighting  there  and  leaving, 
shook  it  so  that  half  its  petals  fluttered  away  in 
pursuit ;  a  little  piece  of  jewel-work  of  a  hum 
ming-bird  darted  by  to  join  the  frolic;  a  blue 
bird  dropped  a  measure  of  melody  from  the 
spray  where  he  was  tilting,  and  followed  after. 
Every  thing,  in  all  the  bright  and  blooming 
garden,  moved  and  glanced  and  blushed  and 
glittered.  Every  thing  spoke  of  life  and  joy 
and  hope  and  health  :  nothing  spoke  of  sad 
secrets  or  ill  deeds.  Every  thing  told  of  beauty 
and  breath,  the  luxury  of  living :  nothing  told 
of  death,  or  desolation. 


THE   THIEF   IN  THE   NIGHT.  3 

A  window-casement,  looking  out  upon  the 
garden,  had  been  ajar  all  night,  perhaps :  the 
fresh  morning  breeze  had  pushed  it  open  now, 
had  brushed  the  curtain  from  its  fastenings,  and 
lifted  it  high  in  the  air  within,  while  rioting 
round  the  room.  You  could  see  through  this 
open  window  that  the  appointments  of  the  room 
were  costly :  the  carpet  was  like  a  soft  and 
springy  depth  of  moss  ;  the  bedstead  was  a  mass 
of  carved  mother-of-pearl,  its  snowy  silken  cur 
tains,  though  heavy  with  their  golden  fringe,  yet 
fluttered  and  dappled  by  the  wind  ;  on  the  wall  a 
solitary  picture,  a  portrait  set  in  a  panel  of  unbur- 
nished  gold. 

It  was  a  woman's  face  there,  a  fair,  white 
woman,  with  hair  of  palest  tint,  —  so  white 
was  she  that  you  saw  the  tracery  of  blue  veins 
upon  her  temples  and  her  throat :  the  large  eyes 
were  scarcely  bluer.  Though  dark  brows  and 
darker  lashes  lent  those  eyes  shadow  and  depth, 
they  had  an  inner  splendor  of  their  own,  a  light 
that  seemed  to  burn  from  the  brain :  they  were 
strong  and  searching  eyes,  rejoicing  eyes,  that 
said  although  the  heart  should  break  the  spirit 
would  be  glad  and  safe.  But  the  mouth  was 
another  thing ;  for  albeit  its  lips  were  like  some 


4  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

pulpy  fruit,  yet  the  smile  that  played  around  its 
corners  was  full  of  melancholy.  A  face  that 
blended  all  its  contradictions  into  one  perfect 
charm,  a  face  to  lure  on  its  victims,  —  to  smile 
and  smile,  and  murder  while  it  smiled. 

There  might  have  been  other  objects  in  the  room, 
but  they  were  not  in  the  line  of  the  window ;'  one 
only,  a  silver  tripod,  bearing  a  globe  of  red  roses, 
was  to  be  seen.  A  level  sunbeam  smote  through 
them  till  they  seemed  to  blaze  with  crimson  fire, 
and,  dyed  and  suffused  with  all  the  ripe,  rich 
color,  the  radiance  passed  on  and  lay  in  a  stain 
of  crimson  glory  on  the  pillow,  as  if  it  did  not 
dare  to  touch  the  ashen  frozen  face  beside  it 
there ;  or  as  if  it  spurned  to  simulate  the  deeper, 
darker  stain  where  the  sleeper  lay, — lay  with  his 
ghastly  countenance  turned  toward  that  portrait 
still,  with  his  glazed  eye  open  on  it  even  now, 
while  no  shadow  fell  between  them,  and  nothing 
stirred  in  all  the  room  save  the  bright  breeze 
blowing  in,  tossing  draperies  and  playing  idle 
pranks  around  the  form  that  lay  unconscious  and 
not  to  be  stirred  by  its  wayward  will,  —  the  form 
that  lay  as  a  murdered  man  lies,  a  man  murdered 
in  his  sleep,  a  dead  man  straight  and  stark  upon 
his  bed  with  stiffened  blood  about  him. 


THE   THIEF   IN  THE   NIGHT.  5 

The  room  where  this  hideous  sight  was  to  be 
seen  in  the  midst  of  so  much  splendor  was  on  the 
ground-floor:  two  great  fir-trees  stood  up  on 
either  side  the  casement  to  guard  it,  but  there 
was  open  view  to  whomsoever  passed  that  way. 

A  lady  came  stepping  down  the  marble  stair 
way  on  the  hither  edge  of  the  terrace,  —  a  tall  and 
shapely  woman  with  a  gracious  presence  of  her 
own :  a  cambric  handkerchief  was  loosely  tied 
over  the  locks  of  palest  tint.  She  lifted  her  gown 
from  the  dew  and  passed  on ;  she  was  not  bound 
toward  the  open  casement ;  the  face  she  showed 
the  morning  sun  was  the  face  of  the  portrait,  the 
same  features  cut  as  if  upon  an  opaque  gem,  the 
same  cream-white  skin,  but  the  eyes  were  lustre 
less  to-day  and  sodden  with  much  weeping. 

Before  the  lady  was  quite  lost  to  sight  another 
person  had  entered  the  bright  enclosure :  it  was 
the  gardener,  making  along  with  his  spade  across 
his  shoulder.  His  way  lay  directly  before  the 
open  casement ;  he  passed  it  by  with  a  half-glance 
behind  him ;  started,  after  a  few  steps,  as  if  he 
had  but  just  understood  the  sight  he  saw,  went 
back,  put  down  his  spade,  went  in.  He  was 
within  perhaps  a  single  minute :  when  he  came 
out  he  was  whiter  than  the  thing  he  had  left  ;  he 


6  'JJJh    'JH.'KJ-     IN    THh 


caught  a  glimpse  of  the  lady's  garment  as  it 
tered  round  a  hedge,  and  ran  breathlessly  after 
her.    She  turned  at  the  sound  of  his  footsteps. 

"  Mr.  Beaudesfords  "  —  be  cried. 

"  Has  sent  for  me  ?  "  she  tiked  eagerly. 

"Mr.  Beaudesfords"  —  he  began  again,  and 
stopped,  incapable,  whether  terror  dazed  him,  or 
some  commanding  instinct  stifled  the»words,  and 
gave  him  others  first.  "  0  madame  !  this  note  is 
for  you.  I  took  it  from  his  hand,"  he  cried. 

She  reached  her  own  for  it,  not  heeding  the 
dark,  dry  imprint  on  a  corner  of  the  crumpled 
scrap,  gave  one  glance  at  an  enclosure  it  con 
tained,  and  held  it  then  with  no  more  quiver  visi 
ble  in  her  fingers  tlian  if  they  liad  belonged  to  a 
statue  of  moulded  clay.  "  Well,  McRoy,"  she  said, 
"  what  disturbs  you  ?  Wliat  else  'i  " 

The  gardener  looked  at  her  amazedly:  her 
repoae  fMBied  to  petrify  him.  "  And  this,  mad 
ame,"  said  he,  slowly  opening  hus  hand  before 
her  as  if  he  could  do  it  no  faster.  "  This  little 
knife  !  "  His  teeth  chattered  in  his  head. 

"  It  is  mine,"  she  answered  him.  "  You  Iiave 
often  seen  me  use  it  here.  Where  did  you  find 
it?" 

"  It  is  the  knife  with  which  Mr.  Beaudesfords 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  7 

was  last  night  murdered  in  his  bed ! "  he  ex 
claimed. 

The  white  face  flushed,  flushed  rose  and  redder, 
till  the  swollen  veins  stood  purple  :  then  it  grew 
deathly,  and  the  lady  staggered  and  caught 
McRoy's  hand  for  support.  "  What !  "  she  tried 
to  say,  "  Beaudesfords  "  — 

"Ay,  madame,"  he  replied,  "murdered.  God! 
how  could  ye  ?  " 

She  seemed  either  not  to  hear  him,  or  else  to 
find  it  impossible  to  comprehend  him.  "  Mur 
dered  ! "  she  gasped  again,  staying  herself  only 
by  that  shaking  hold  upon  his  arm. 

"Ay,  ay,  that's  it:  no  more  nor  less, — just 
murdered  !  But  that 's  your  knife  :  take  it,  hide 
it !  For  hark  ye,  Mrs.  Beaudesfords  !  't  was  your 
hand  closed  my  May's  eyes,  —  his  own  are  staring 
wide  open  by  the  same  token.  And  I  '11  keep  your 
secret." 

Mrs.  Beaudesfords  was  moving  as  the  man 
spoke,  —  moving  with  trembling  feet,  giving  her 
self  no  time  to  listen  to  him,  to  glance  at  him,  to  be 
appalled  by  him.  "  Alarm  the  house  !  "  she  was 
hoarsely  crying  as  she  fled.  "  Send  Dr.  Ruthven 
here  !  Rouse  them  !  Come,  rouse  them  all !  " 
And  she  swept  past  him,  strengthening  herself, 


8  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

in  a  terrible  sort  of  grandeur,  like  one  who  en 
counters  fate  and  defies  it. 

The  man  gaped  after  her;  then  gulped  down 
whatever  words  he  had  been  about  to  utter,  and 
ran  in  the  direction  of  Dr.  Ruthven's  abode, 
having  the  power  to  obey,  but  not  to  think,  too 
stupefied  to  say  even  to  himself  that  here  was 
a  woman  whose  course  was  to  choose  without  a 
tremor. 

Mrs.  Beaudesfords  shivered,  but  never  paused, 
as  she  stepped  across  the  sill  of  the  open  case 
ment.  Now  it  was  clear  daylight.  Last  night, 
and  with  another  purpose,  she  had  crossed  it 
stealthily,  and  in  the  dark.  She  seized  the  bell- 
rope,  and  rang  a  peal  that  might  have  awakened 
the  dead  themselves,  before  she  turned  to  view 
the  object  that  was  so  soon  to  be  exposed  to  all. 
She  appeared  to  be  in  a  measure  stunned  by  what 
she  had  heard,  as  if  she  either  knew  it  too  well 
already,  or  else  did  not  fairly  believe  it.  The 
sight  might  have  made  a  stronger  woman  sicken. 
As  she  caught  the  stolid  stare  of  those  icy  eyes, 
her  limbs  failed,  and  she  fell  senseless  to  the  floor. 

It  was  only  a  moment,  and  the  .room  was  full ; 
servants,  sisters,  mother,  clustering  together,  and 
almost  as  the  summons  of  the  bell  had  found 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT.  9 

them.  While  these  hung,  terror-struck,  over  the 
bed,  breaking  out  in  a  bewildered  wailing,  others 
rubbed  her  hands  and  temples.  The  will  that  so 
seldom  swerved  came  to  her  relief.  She  heard  a 
clanking  kind  of  step  on  the  hall  pavement,  and 
she  stood  upon  one  side  of  the  dead  man's  pillow 
when  Major  Gaston  stood  upon  the  other. 

Gaston  did  not  utter  a  syllable.  He  stooped  and 
lifted  the  leaden  hand,  and  let  it  fall  again  ;  and 
then  he  looked  at  her,  bending  there  before  him 
as  frozen  and  as  pale  as  the  face  below.  Perhaps 
even  in  such  a  moment  she  could  feel  that  his 
gaze  was  on  her ;  but  what  matter  ?  With  that 
writing  secured,  she  was  safe.  She  might  be  a 
murderer,  since,  doubtless,  there  had  been  seasons 
when  in  her  heart  she  had  desired  this  death,  — 
as  much  a  murderer  as  the  one  who  used  that 
little  knife  which  a  moment  since  she  had  found 
herself  still  holding  and  had  flung  away  like  an 
adder.  Twice  and  thrice  a  murderer  she  would 
rather  Gaston  thought  her,  than  once  a  false  wife. 
Her  husband's  honor  lay  in  that  scrap  of  paper 
hidden  on  her  heart.  She  felt  it  as  she  breathed. 
Gaston  should  never  know  what  words  were  writ 
ten  there.  She  looked  up  and  met  his  gaze  with 
a  steady  glance  of  those  triumphant  eyes  of  hers, 
i* 


10  THE   THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT. 

triumphant    even   over    death ;   and,   while    she 
looked,  the  way  was  opened  for  Dr.  Ruthven. 

The  old  physician,  shocked  by  his  summons, 
since  he  had  left  his  patient  in  a  comfortable  state 
on  the  previous  evening,  bent  over  the  bed  a  brief 
space,  and  gave  a  dozen  breathless  directions. 
"  This  knife,  eh  !  The  radial  artery  opened  ? " 
said  he  then.  "  Delicate  operation  for  a  night 
attack,  and  a  house  full  of  people.  Too  delicate, 
too  much  so,  it  couldn't  have  been.  A  night  at 
tack?  He  has  not  been  an  hour  dead!"  And 
in  the  moment  ere  they  could  obey  his  orders  he 
had  the  gardener  in  to  point  out  the  exact  position 
in  which  the  knife  was  found.  Gaston  took  the 
sharp  toy  from  him,  balancing  it  on  his  fingers, 
examining  the  minutely  carved  handle  with  its 
crusted  stain.  "  Humph !  Just  as  I  thought," 
muttered  the  Doctor.  "  A  little  gash  to  let  eter 
nity  in  on  a  man's  soul.  Sorry  for  him !  ah,  I  'm 
sorry  for  Beaudesfords !  It  may  be  yet  —  Mrs. 
Beaudesfords,  dear  lady,  this  is  no  place  for 

you." 

She  had  pushed  back  the  little  stand  with  its 
portfolio  and  pencils  from  the  head  of  the  bed, 
unperceived  in  so  common  an  action.  There  had 
been  need  for  some  one  to  be  calm,  since  all  the 


THE   THIEF   IN  THE  NIGHT.  11 

other  women  were  shrieking  and  wringing  their 
hands.  But  now,  slowly  sinking  on  her  knees, 
and  vainly  endeavoring  to  hinder  it,  she  was 
shaking  the  bed  with  her  hard,  dry  sobs.  The 
Doctor  lifted  her,  and  half  helped,  half  bore,  her  , 
from  the  room.  Gaston  never  stirred. 


12  THE   THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT. 


n. 


WHEN  the  room  had  been  quite  cleared  of  the 
weeping  and  wailing  throng  there,  —  weeping  and 
wailing,  not  only  from  the  loss  of  a  dear  com 
panion  and  kind  master,  but  from  the  sud 
denness,  the  horror,  and  a  hundred  hysterical 
emotions,  —  Major  Gaston  still  retained  his  po 
sition  beside  the  pillow,  now  half  in  the  shadow 
of  a  fallen  curtain,  and  still  looked  down  upon 
the  face  that  was  turned  toward  the  portrait,  as 
if  that  pictured  eye  it  was  that  had  frozen  the 
man  to  stone.  His  own  glance  followed  that 
dead  stare,  and  rested  on  the  beautiful  breathing 
canvas  where  the  painted  woman  seemed  to  lean 
from  the  frame  and  command  both  dead  and 
living  to  her  worship.  To  her  worship  ?  Wor 
ship  her  who,  finding  her  husband  as  she  had 
found  him,  still  keeps  her  powers  about  her,  rings 
up  the  house,  and  neither  shrieks  nor  raves  in 
maniac  fashion  ?  Strong  nerves  were  hers. 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  13 

Strong  nerves  were  needed  for  this  work  last 
night.  Worship  her  who  —  in  his  soul  he  be 
lieved  it  —  loved  another  man,  that  man  himself, 
Gaston ;  loved  with  all  her  passionate  nature,  — 
nature  as  proud  as  passionate,  able  to  lend  itself 
to  crime,  never  to  shame ;  who  was  beloved 
again;  who  knew  she  was  beloved  again,  —  for 
had  not  Gaston's  every  pulse,  every  breath,  every 
glance,  this  three  months  past,  assured  her?  — 
whose  husband  had  seen  the  whole ;  who  by  all 
her  hopes  in  life  had  reason  to  wish  him  where  he 
lay  ;  who  was  the  first  to  find  him  where  he  lay  ? 
They  who  hide  can  find.  Worship  her  who  — 
once  before  he  had  seen  it  —  failed  to  blanch  at 
the  sight  of  blood,  when,  without  a  tremor,  she 
held  McRoy's  May  in  her  arms,  as  the  child  died 
amidst  the  red  torrents  spurting  under  the  sur 
geon's  steel;  who  had  lopped  the  garden  roses, 
not  a  week  ago,  with  that  little  knife  of  hers, 
and  had  whetted  it  on  the  edge-stone  of  the  lake 
till  it  glittered  in  its  haft,  —  the  haft  in  the  like 
ness  of  an  ivory  hand  and  arm :  what  a  red  stain 
there  was  on  that  tiny  hand  now !  And  on  the 
other  hand  —  her  hand  ? 

Major  Gaston  could  not  have  gazed  on  that 
canvas  before  him,  on  that  face  with  its  enchant- 


14  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

ing  sweetness,  and  have  thought  such  thoughts : 
they  were  not  thoughts  of  his  thinking  at  all,  but 
phantasms  that  thronged  over  him  as  if  he  were 
walking  through  a  dark,  dank  cavern,  and  all  its 
flitting  bats  and  vampires  flapped  their  wet  wings 
in  his  face.  He  remembered  Dr.  Ruthven's  dec 
laration,  when  he  entered  ten  minutes  since,  like 
some  apocryphal  thing  he  had  read  and  half  for 
gotten  a  score  of  years  ago,  nor  did  he  notice 
what  the  man  was  about  there  now  with  the 
sweat  on  his  forehead.  Not  he  to  himself,  but 
something  far  outside,  seemed  to  say  that  how 
ever  much  in  friendship  or  in  zeal  the  family 
physician  strove  to  keep  an  ancient  name  from 
shame,  yet  murder  had  been  done,  —  something 
far  outside,  a  thousand  leagues  outside ;  for  as 
for  him,  gazing  at  the  picture  of  that  woman's 
face,  the  currents  of  his  heart,  mounting  higher 
and  higher,  kindled  their  flame  on  his  sallow 
cheek  ;  all  his  blood  beat  toward  her :  in  spite 
of  sin,  or  shame,  or  life,  or  death,  he  loved  her ! 
But  Gaston  could  not  have  declared  himself  con 
scious  even  of  this :  he  stood  like  an  automaton, 
with  every  spring  of  his  being  played  on  by  this 
moment's  cruel  hand.  The  only  thing  of  which 
he  was  distinctly  aware  while  he  looked  on  the 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  15 

lovely  face,  and  the  dead  man  lay  beneath,  was 
the  burden  of  a  rude  ballad  that  once  the  little 
May  sung  to  the  three  together, —  a  song  that 
could  have  naught  to  do  with  such  a  scene  as 
this :  — 

"  Earl  Castle's  wife  came  down  the  stair, 

And  all  her  maids  before  her,  0  ; 
As  soon  as  they  saw  her  well-fared  face, 
They  cast  the  glamor  o'er  her,  0." 

When  the  physician  had  tried  vainly  all  his 
usual  methods  of  resuscitation,  and  had  des 
patched  his  assistants  on  the  last  resort,  he  came 
and  laid  his  hand  on  Gaston's  arm.  "  You  did 
not  believe  me  when  I  said  this  was  no  night 
attack  of  an  assassin?"  said  he, — for  the  pres 
ence  of  death  did  not  so  much  awe  the  man  who 
dealt  in  it,  and  who  knew  it  only  as  a  kind  event 
that  loosed  the  indefinable  bond  between  soul  and 
body.  "You  did  not  believe  me,  sir?" 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  doubt  you ! "  shud 
dered  Gaston. 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  Doctor,  taking  his  hand, 
and  wringing  it  till  it  ached,  "  since  I  have  often 
spoken  with  you  plainly  for  your  soul's  health, 
let  me  tell  you  that  there  are  different  ways  of 
committing  the  same  crime:  this  is  one  with 


16  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

accessories.  Whosesoever  deed  it  was,  —  whose 
soever, —  this  hand  I  clasp,  this  hand  of  Arnold 
Gaston's,  is  just  as  guilty  as  if  it  had  driven 
home  the  knife!"  Then,  at  the  sound  of  his 
horse's  feet,  Dr.  Ruthven  went  out  hurriedly 
and  left  Gaston  alone. 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  17 


III. 


WITH  his  victim.  Gaston  had  been  fond  of 
fancying  himself  the  victim  of  Beaudesfords. 
How  could  it  be  that  fate  had  so  suddenly  turned 
the  tables  ? 

They  two  were  boys  together  at  the  same  school, 
mates  in  the  same  barrack :  if  they  had  had  no 
sorrows  to  share,  they  had  been  one  in  every 
pleasure.  Gaston  was  a  poor  man  with  his  way  to 
clear  ;  but  had  Beaudesfords  —  millionnaire  from 
his  cradle  —  been  born  of  Danae's  golden  shower 
itself,  he  could  not  have  lavished  wealth  around 
him  more  loosely.  So  prodigal  that  every  one 
partook  of  his  bounty,  his  friend  could  scarcely 
avoid  basking  in  the  same  sunshine  that  he  did. 
But  Gaston  was  a  proud  man,  as  well  as  a  poor 
one :  he  liked  to  accept  nothing  without  rendering 
its  equivalent ;  and  it  was  partly  for  that  reason 
that  Beaudesfords,  while  squandering  his  income 
when  by  himself,  had  reduced  his  personal  expen- 


18  THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

ditures  to  a  Spartan  level  when  in  the  society  of 
Gaston.  Gaston  had  been  the  first  of  his  class  : 
Beaudesfords,  the  second,  looked  up  at  him  with 
unmixed  admiration.  Beaudesfords  had  resigned 
his  commission :  Gaston  had  retained  his,  and  in 
the  frontier  service  had  won  a  scar  that  Beaudes 
fords,  with  joyous  envy,  considered  a  superior 
decoration  to  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor. 
Gaston,  with  a  somewhat  gloomy  tinge  of  temper 
ament,  almost  a  stranger  to  success,  hitherto 
chained  to  his  profession,  and  devoured  by  stifled 
and  unsatisfied  ambitions,  was  regarded  by 
Beaudesfords  —  young,  rich,  handsome,  followed 
by  troops  of  friends  —  as  the  one  person  in  the 
world  with  whom  he  would  be  willing  to  ex 
change  identities  and  circumstances.  In  return 
Gaston  loved  him  truly :  he  could  do  no  less. 

The  two  were  on  a  fishing  excursion  round  the 
coast  at  the  time  they  together  met  Catherine 
Stanhope.  The  wind  had  fallen,  and  they  were 
rowing  their  heavy  boat  round  a  long  ledge  of 
rocks  before  making  its  night-harbor,  when  they 
saw  this  woman  standing  on  the  extreme  point  of 
the  ledge  looking  out  to  sea.  Her  gown  and  a 
loosened  tress  of  fair  hair  fluttered  on  a  little 
eddy  of  faint  air;  but  she  herself  stood  in  the 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  19 

sunset  light  unmoved,  a  marble  statue  flushed 
and  tinted  by  whatever  foreign  light  was  shed 
upon  it,  —  as  if  her  beauty  were  a  beacon  to  warn 
all  sailors  from  so  dangerous  a  coast.  So  beauti 
ful  was  she,  indeed,  that  the  two  friends  raised 
their  oars  by  one  accord  while  they  gazed,  turned 
away,  and  looked  back  again  to  make  sure  that  it 
was  no  deceit  of  weary  eyes.  At  her  knees  an 
other  figure  sat,  a  younger  girl,  only  less  lovely, 
but  in  utter  contrast  to  the  cool  command  of  her 
who  stood:  this  small  and  clear  dark  face  was 
flushed,  its  eyes  were  fired,  its  short  rings  of 
raven  hair  were  wet  with  the  dew  of  terror  ;  for, 
coming  to  gather  samphire,  Rose  and  her  sister 
had  been  cut  off  from  shore  by  the  rising  tide. 
Rose  cowered  there  half  unobserved ;  but  it  is  safe 
to  say  that  of  the  two  friends  one  not  sooner  than 
the  other  was  wild  with  love  of  Catherine  Stanhope. 

"  Beautiful,  by  God !  "  exclaimed  Gaston. 

"  By  all  the  gods  !  "  cried  Beaudesfords,  turn 
ing  on  his  seat. 

"When  was  such  a  group  seen  before,  —  two 
such  women  "  — 

"  Ah !  I  saw  but  one,"  said  Beaudesfords. 

"  And  yet  the   picture   would  be   incomplete 
without  that  carnation  on  the  darker  cheek." 


20  THE  THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

Beaudesfords  laughed  while  he  lowered  his  oar, 
as  if  there  had  been  disclosed  a  flash  of  his  good 
fortune  in  the  future  that  eclipsed  all  the  past 
had  given,  since  his  friend  had  had  time  to  see 
the  darker  cheek,  and  preferred  to  linger  on  the 
sight.     The  veil  which  Arnold  Gaston's  reserve 
for  ever  wrapped  about  his  emotion  served  him 
in  ill  stead  that  night:  a  frank  word,  perhaps, 
and   the    end    had   been   otherwise.     With  the 
sound  of  that  laugh,  Catherine's  eyes  fell  from 
their  steady  gaze  where  her  soul  had  stayed  pre 
pared  for  all  the  ventures  of  eternity ;  and  she 
beheld  the  two,  —  the  back  of  one  as  he  bent 
over  his  oar,  the  dark,  eager  face  of  the  other. 
This  life  again  with  all  its  warmth  and   bliss 
rushed  before  her :   all  past  joys,  all  future  pos 
sibilities,  rose  in  a  splendid  hope  and  gleamed 
for  her  out  of  Arnold  Gaston's  eyes,  as  he  gazed 
in  her  face,  while  the  other  oar  dipped  and  glanced, 
rowing  steadily  towards  her.     A  cry  would  have 
risen  to  her  lips,  but  it  died  there :   she  only  held 
out  her   arms   with   an   imploring  gesture,  and 
awaited  him.     It  was  his  arms  that  lifted  to  re 
ceive  her  as  the  boatside  grated ;  but  as  instantly 
he  had  dropped  them,  had  sprung  out   on  the 
weed-imbedded  rock,  had  passed  Rose  across  to 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  21 

Beaudesfords  like  a  child,  and  then,  as  if  the  same 
grasp  had  been  profanation  of  the  other,  had  held 
her  steady  by  her  strong  white  hands  —  he  saw 
how  strong  and  white  they  were,  each  lineament 
and  curve  was  printed  011  his  perception  in  as 
brief  an  instant  as  that  in  which  the  sun  sets 
down  every  line  and  shadow  —  as  she  stepped 
across,  had  followed  her,  and  pushed  off  again 
with  a  laboring  oar  out  of  the  way  of  the  strong 
current  that  rippled  round  the  rock.  But  if 
Beaudesfords  ever  thought  about  that  swift  scene 
in  its  relation  to  any  other  than  himself  and 
Catherine,  he  only  remembered  that  it  was  Rose 
whom  Gaston  had  saved  the  first. 

Rose  began  to  cry.  The  statelier  and  serener 
woman  calmed  her  with  a  soothing  touch. 

"  Mr.  Beaudesfords"  —  said  she. 

He  turned  in  astonished  silence,  taking  off  the 
cap  and  throwing  back  his  tumbling  yellow  hair. 

"You  have  forgotten  me  —  Catherine  Stan 
hope." 

"  Never  ! "  he  cried. 

"  But  it  is  !  "  averred  the  little  one,  looking  up, 
her  face  a-glitter  with  tears  and  blushes.  "  And 
I  am  Rose." 

"  That  you  are !  "  said  Beaudesfords,  gallantly. 


22  THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

"Rose  in. Bloom,  herself.  But  Catherine?  Do 
you  suppose  I  could  have  forgotten  you  if  I  had 
ever  seen  you  ?  When  I  knew  Catherine  Stanhope 
she  was  fifteen  and  farouche" 

What  lovely  woman  ever  forgave  a  slight  to 
her  beauty,  past  or  present  ?  What  unconscious 
one  ever  favored  such  bold  addresses  ?  Beaudes- 
fords  learned  that  fact  by  an  intuition.  "  ^nd 
now  you  are  affronted,"  said  he ;  "  and  I  have  no 
claim  upon  your  good-nature,  since  it  was  Gaston 
and  not  I  that  brought  you  into  the  boat." 

Gaston  was  running  up  the  sail  to  meet  the 
rising  breeze :  the  presence  of  these  two  women, 
each  so  bewilderingly  beautiful,  was,  to  all  ap 
pearance,  a  matter  to  him  of  not  half  the  moment 
of  the  capful  of  wind  which  he  essayed  to  catch. 

"  You  used  to  speak  of  Gaston  when  you 
stayed  with  us,"  said  Rose,  under  her  breath. 

"  He  is  Major  Gaston  now,"  replied  Beaudes- 
fords. 

Just  then  the  sail  swung  lazily  round,  and  left 
Gaston  standing  dark  and  clear  against  the  setting 
sun,  while  he  bowed  in  answer  to  this  intro 
duction.  Catherine  turned,  and  again  their  gaze 
met.  Beaudesfords  used  to  speak  of  his  friend  as 
of  a  being  impassible  as  the  hills :  he  would  have 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  23 

- 

spoken  in  other  terms  had  he  often  felt  the  heat 
of  the  fires  that  seethed  within.  But  who  would 
have  guessed  them  as  Gaston  raised  his  hand  to 
try  the  wind,  saying,  "  Another  tack,  and  we  just 
make  it ! " 

For  the  rest  of  the  quiet  sail  no  one  wasted 
many  words,  —  Rose  quivering  with  excitement, 
Catherine  too  grateful  for  her  escape,  too  deeply 
touched.  Beaudesfords  had  mercy  on  them,  and 
spent  his  impatience  on  the  boat  as  it  wound  in 
and  out  a  serpentine  channel  to  the  shore.  But 
perhaps  none  of  them  ever  forgot  that  tranquil 
motion  on  the  still,  broad  stream,  in  which  the 
sunset  colors  burned  and  drowned,  and  over 
which  the  evening  star  stole  out  large-rayed  and 
calm :  evening  bells  came  floating  off  from  the 
distant  town,  the  light-house  lamps  began  to 
sparkle,  a  warm  land-breeze  caught  them  up  and 
baffled  them  with  flower-scents  for  a  time ;  then 
a  salt  smell  of  the  sea  was  upon  them  in  the 
land-locked  river-mouth,  and  a  light  and  rushing 
cast  wind  bore  them  up  the  sand,  just  as  the  night, 
with  all  its  flitting  'fire-flies  up,  had  settled  into 
duskiest,  warmest  depth. 

It  was  Beaudesfords  who  helped  them  out. 
Then  Catherine  turned  again  and  held  her  hand 


^  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

to  Gaston.  "  I  shall  not  thank  you,"  said  she, 
"  because  there  are  no  words  for  such  a  service." 
If  Major  Gaston  tingled  to  his  fingers'  ends  as  he 
resigned  that  hand,  none  there  would  have  known  it. 

"  But  you  must  come  up  with  us,"  cried  the  little 
Rose.  "  Mamma  will  never  forgive  us  if  we  let 
you  go.  She  will  want  to  kiss  the  hands  that 
helped  us.  Oh !  you  saved  our  lives,  you  know !  " 

"  We  never  thought  of  any  thing  less,"  re 
sponded  Beaudesfords,  taking  no  notice  of  her 
grateful  phrases,  for  the  extremity  had  not  been 
serious,  and  doubtless  other  boats,  in  a  port 
where  they  were  always  darting  about  the  water, 
would  have  come  to  the  rescue  in  season :  it  only 
happened  to  be  Beaudesfords'  that  came  the  first. 
"  We  never  thought  of  any  thing  le"ss  when  we  set 
out,"  said  he ;  and  so,  ringing  the  changes  on  old 
times  with  question  and  answer,  they  had  gone 
up  the  steep  bank  to  the  Stanhope  cottage  and 
entered,  and,  in  view  of  the  alarm  their  protracted 
stay  had  caused,  had  received  a  greeting  from  the 
mother  and  her  other  daughter  of  welcome  and 
reproaches,  kisses  and  tears.'  Gaston  viewed  the 
scene  from  the  doorway,  —  Beaudesfords  mingling 
in  it,  and  with  assumed  simplicity  coming  in  for 
his  share  of  all ;  and  perhaps  the  glow  of  the 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  25 

moment  gave  a  warmer  tinge  to  the  feelings  of 
the  Stanhopes  in  his  regard  than  a  year's  en 
deavor  might  have  done,  though  he  had  once  been 
almost  a  child  of  the  house  himself. 

Mrs.  Stanhope  was  rather  a  stately  woman : 
her  white  skin  Catherine  had,  her  dark  eyes  Rose. 
She  was  still  a  pretty  woman,  and  had  sufficient 
spirit  to  cause  the  household  to  cluster  round  her 
self  for  a  centre.  Her  three  children  obeyed  her 
now  as  they  did  in  their  infancy ;  that  is  to  say, 
Catherine  implicitly,  Caroline  petulantly,  Rose 
not  at  all.  She  was  an  ambitious  woman,  desir 
ing  wealth ;  and,  since  it  was  unlikely  that  Caro 
line  would  ever  leave  her,  she  intended  that  the 
marriages  of  the  others  should  be  brilliant  enough 
to  cover  her  deficiency.  Her  husband  had  been 
one  of  Beaudesfords'  guardians  until  his  death. 
A  widow  now,  and  with  a  small  support,  she  knew 
the  value  of  money,  particularly  of  Beaudes 
fords', —  the  accumulation  of  a  long  minority: 
she  knew  the  value  of  beauty,  too,  as  a  mer 
chantable  article,  though  doubtless  she  would 
have  rebuked  such  a  -suggestion  with  scorn. 
Nevertheless  she  had  sighed  that  in  her  seclusion 
the  beauty  of  her  daughters  should  go  for  noth 
ing  ;  had  more  than  once  wondered  if  Beaudes- 
2 


26  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

fords,  taking  his  pleasure  round  the  world,  would 
never  remember  his  home  of  a  single  year  suf 
ficiently  to  seek  it  again ;  and  was  not  at  last  a 
whit  surprised  when  one  morning,  after  he  had 
been  a  week  in  the  place,  Beaudesfords — who 
had  come  in  and  was  scratching  off  some  letters 
on  her  writing-table  —  looked  up  and  said  to  her, 
"  Mamma  Stanhope,  I  am  going  to  marry  Cathe 
rine." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  she. 

"Do  you  think  Catherine  will  marry  me  ? " 
said  Beaudesfords  then,  a  little  shyly  and  slyly. 

"  Oh !  that,"  said  Mamma  Stanhope,  to  make 
the  prize  more  precious,  —  "  that  is  quite  another 
thing.  Catherine  is  whimsical :  I  cannot  say. 
You  surely  are  the  one  to  know." 

"  I  surely  do  not  know.  This  morning  she  is 
kind  to  me,  this  evening  she  is  haughty,  to-mor 
row  she  forgets  I  exist.  You  see,  Mamma  Stan 
hope,  if  I  had  —  if  I  were  like  Gaston"  — 

u  Gaston,  indeed  !  "  cried  madame.  "  I  will 
bring  her  here  this  moment !  " 

"  No,  no,  no  !  That  would  never  do.  But  you 
can  judge,  at  least,  if  she  would  favor  such  a 
suit.  I  have  so  little  to  offer  in  myself." 

"  Is  that  Rose   calling  me  ?  "   asked  the  wily 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  27 

woman.  "  The  child  troubles  me  more  every  day 
than  Catherine  ever  did  in  her  whole  life.  Wait 
here,  and  finish  your  letters.  I  will  be  back 
directly." 

Catherine  and  her  sisters  were  alone  in  the 
little  sewing-room :  they  were  plotting  a  gown 
that  should  answer  at  once  for  the  street,  the 
evening,  and  dinner.  The  mother  entered,  and 
stood  a  moment  watching  them  before  she  de 
spatched  the  other  two  on  some  opportune  errand. 

"  You  will  not  need  to  turn  a  breadth  three 
times  before  saying  which  side  is  the  less  shabby 
any  more,"  said  she  then.  "  Beaudesfords  wishes 
you  for  his  wife,  Catherine."  She  would  not 
have  played  her  cards  so  poorly  had  she  felt  a 
trifle  less  exultation  over  her  prospects,  or  dislike 
of  their  employment. 

"Me?"  exclaimed  Catherine,  lifting  her  head 
from  where  she  stooped,  while  the  blood  blos 
somed  out  in  two  red  roses  on  her  cheeks. 
"Beaudesfords!"  She  sprang  to  her  feet. 
"When  he  has  not  known  me  a  week!"  she 
cried.  "  Does  he  think,  because  his  purse  is  full, 
he  comes  into  this  house  as  if  it  were  a  market 
of  Circassian  girls  and  orders  his  slave  home?" 

Beaudesfords    had    not    finished    his    letters, 


28  THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

neither  had  he  written  a  word  of  them :  he  sat 
there  stripping  his  quill  in  pieces,  when  suddenly 
the  doorway  darkened,  and  Catherine  stood  there 
as  blazing  and  brilliant  as  if  a  meteor  had  opened 
and  let  her  out, —  a  baleful  meteor. 

Beaudesfords  rose  pale  to  confront  her.  He 
was  her  mate  for  beauty  as  he  stood,  that  was 
clear:  his  stature  nobler  than  hers,  his  profile 
like  that  on  those  coins  where  the  conquering 
Alexander  had  his  own  likeness  struck  in  the 
name  of  Apollo,  his  gray  eyes  with  no  more 
quailing  in  them  than  an  eagle's,  the  clustering 
brightness  of  his  hair,  —  she  saw  it  all  as  she 
stood  there,  her  lips  apart  to  speak,  but  the  words 
rising  to  them  so  bitter  that  they  were  not  fit  to 
say.  Beaudesfords,  too,  had  a  sharp  arrow  on  the 
string ;  but  in  a  moment  he  had  conquered  his 
indignant  feeling,  and  he  went  forward,  and 
taking  her  hand,  while  she  was  too  much  sur 
prised  to  refuse  it,  led  her  to  a  seat. 

"You  are  angry  with  me,  Catherine,"  said  he 
then,  "  because  I  have  wished  to  share  my  life 
with  you,  whatever  there  is  in  it  either  of  sorry 
or  glad ;  because  you  had  enchanted  a  week  so 
that  I  would  have  the  same  enchantment  spread 
over  years ;  because  in  this  week  I  had  found 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  29 

your  companionship  so  sweet  that  I  wanted  it  for 
ever!"  But  her  lids  fell,  and  her  face  grew  dull, 
for  she  cared  little  for  compliment,  —  nothing 
for  it  from  Beaudesfords,  whom  she  remembered 
as  a  careless,  cheerful  lad,  while  her  sequestered 
life  had  fostered  every  romantic  tendency  towards 
the  unknown  and  heroic.  "Very  well,"  con 
tinued  Beaudesfords :  "it  is  possible  you  can 
pardon  me,  and  I  will  keep  the  rest  to  myself. 
Of  course  it  was  presumptuous.  I  acknowledge 
my  transgression,  and  my  sin  is  ever  before  me ! " 
Then  Beaudesfords  laughed.  He  was  a  merry  fel 
low,  and  had  never  known  what  failure  was:  he 
hoped  still.  "  To  keep  it  from  being  before  me," 
said  he,  "  I  must  go  away.  But  not  till  I  feel 
forgiven.  Don't  let  me  tire  you  with  complaint. 
Do  I  look  like  a  disappointed  lover?" 

"  No,  Mr.  Beaudesfords,"  exclaimed  Catherine, 
her  chance  having  come,  "  but  like  a  disappointed 
purchaser ! " 

"  Before  God  !  "  cried  Beaudesfords,  "  I  never 
thought  of  my  money !  I  will  give  it  all  to  Gas- 
ton,  if  that  will  make  me  a  lighter  weight  in  the 
contest ! " 

What  a  flame  leaped  into  Catherine's  eyes  ! 
"  If  Major  Gaston  had  the  half  of  it,  he  would  "  -— 


30  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

"Would  what?"  said  Beaudesfords,  in  that 
debonair  way  of  his  that  seemed  to  1-er  insuf 
ferable  familiarity. 

"  Would  never  woo  his  wife  in  such  a  fashion !  " 

Beaudesfords  bent  and  touched  her  hand  w'ith 
his  lips.  "  Good-by,"  said  he.  "  It  is  the  kiss 
of  peace.  Since  the  lips  are  forbidden  me"  — 
he  hesitated  half  an  instant,  as  if  his  own  words 
were  a  temptation  to  him;  then  lest,  before  he 
knew  what  he  was  about,  he  should  stoop  and 
hold  and  make  that  mouth  his  own,  —  that  fra 
grant  and  delicious  mouth,  —  he  turned  upon  his 
heel  and  went  out. 

He  came  again  though  in  the  afternoon,  and 
Gaston  with  him.  They  -had  picked  up  a  little 
girl  with  her  basket  of  wild  strawberries  to  sell, 
and  had  brought  her  up  to  empty  it  on  Mamma 
Stanhope's  table. 

"  We  have  sold  such  a  boat-load  of  fish,  and 
lobsters,  and  crabs,"  said  Beaudesfords,  "  that 
we  can  afford  to  buy  some  berries.  What  a 
work-a-day  world  it  is  where  Gaston  is ! "  he 
said,  throwing  himself  back  in  the  great  chair 
he  had  chosen,  and  his  hands  clasped  behind  his 
head.  u  Such  idle  hours  as  those  officers  have  in 
their  forts  and  frontiers  —  Gaston  could  never 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  31 

endure  it,  and  so  got  a  furlough  to  come  and 
earn  his  living.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  away," 
continued  Beaudesfords,  glancing  half  mischiev 
ously  at  Catherine,  for  he  was  well  enough  aware 
that  all  the  family  knew  of  his  morning's  mis 
hap,  and  he  had  taken  care  that  Gaston  did. 
"  But  look  at  my  net  profits  of  to-day,"  and  he 
threw  two  gold  pieces  on  the  table  ;  "  and  Gas- 
ton  has  as  much  more, —  at  least  he  had,  before 
he  bought  the  berries,  —  honest  earnings.  Do 
you  think  we  shall  leave  such  a  placer  ?  "  And 
he  began  to  troll  out,  "Who  '11  buy  my  caller 
herrin'  ?  "  in  as  heart-whole  a  manner  as  ever  a 
costermonger  cried  his  wares. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  have  actually  sold  your 
fish?"  questioned  Rose,  with  her  usual  license. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  In  an  age  of  bargain  arid  sale,"  added  Gas- 
ton,  with  something  strange  in  his  tone.  Cathe 
rine  raised  her  eyes  once  more,  and  they  met 
those  of  Gaston,  in  a  long-suspended  glance. 
She  seemed  mutely  to  answer  a  mute  question: 
the  whole  world  might  be  at  vendue,  but  she, 
at  least,  was  neither  to  be  bought  nor  sold.  A 
moment  after  and  she  was  wondering  at  herself : 
wondering  how  it  was  that  in  a  single  week  this 


32  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

silent  man,  whose  reticence,  perhaps,  fascinated 
one  into  discovering  his  thoughts ;  this  plain 
man,  whose  scar  caused  you  always  to  look  into 
his  eyes  that  you  might  not  see  it ;  this  lonely 
man,  without  a  relative,  and  with  no  nearer 
friend  than  Beaudesfords  on  earth,  —  had  already 
become,  as  it  were,  a  part  of  her  own  being. 

That  day  had  not  been  the  happiest  one,  on 
the  whole,  of  Catherine's  life.  Her  mother 
had  met  her  outbreak  with  a  stern  sense  of 
injury  and  unbending  disapproval.  Caroline  had 
awarded  it  no  more  favor :  only  little  Rose  — 
she  would  always  be  little,  though  she  were  a 
woman  grown  —  had  woven  a  chain  of  pansies, 
and  hung  them  on  Catherine's  hair,  like  the 
benoitons  of  after-days,  whispering  a  host  of 
naughty  consolations  ;  and  Catherine  —  some 
what  martyrized,  picturing  to  herself  that  un 
varying  success  in  life  which  had  so  spoiled 
Beaudesfords  that  he  had  never  dreamed  of  a 
woman's  withstanding  him,  and  had  dared  his 
whole  hope  on  a  single  risk  —  had  made  a  noble 
relief  to  her  picture  out  of  Gaston,  proud,  sad, 
and  majestic. 

But  when  Gaston  met  her  gaze  just  now,  his 
heart  beating  at  first  so  exultantly,  what  made  it 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  33 

sink  as  quickly?  Was  it  with  an  idea  that  he 
was  an  honest  man,  deeply  in  debt,  and  with  a 
sufficient  burden  on  his  shoulders  to  meet  his 
obligations  ?  Was  it  with  a  conviction  that  his 
great  schemes  and  the  work  he  had  projected  for 
himself  would  not  endure  the  rivalries  of  do 
mestic  life  ?  It  could  never  have  been  with  a 
sense  that  he  was  a  selfish  man  shrinking  from 
deprivations  and  responsibilities ! 

"  Yes,  we  sold  them,"  continued  Beaudesfords. 
"  Every  fish  had  a  piece  of  money  in  its  mouth." 

"  Just  as  much  as  if  it  had  been  caught  in  the 
brooks  of  the  miracles,"  said  Gaston. 

"  So  you  see  we  are  inevitable  as  long  as  a 
sturgeon  leaps  in  the  river,  —  at  least  I  am : 
Gaston  has  some  ridiculous  idea  of  departure." 

"  Why,  I  thought  Major  Gaston  had  a  fur 
lough,"  said  Rose,  who  had  brought  her  little 
macaw  to  the  table,  and  was  teasing  her  with 
strawberries,  thereby  diverting  the  attention  of 
Mamma  Stanhope,  who  coupled  the  claws  and 
beak  with  rents  in  her  damask. 

"  A  long  furlough,"  said  Gaston  :  "  I  have  left 
the  army  for  a  situation  in  the  civil-engineer  ser 
vice,  that  I  may  pay  my  debts  and  draw  a  free 
breath  before  I  die." 


34  THE   THIEF   IN   THE  NIGHT. 

"  Mamma  says  good  people  do  not  get  into 
debt,"  said  the  more  than  half-spoiled  Rose. 
u  That  is  the  reason  I  have  such  a  bill  at  the 
milliner's.  Good  people  are  so  stupid  !  " 

"  You  relish  a  suspicion  of  wickedness  ?"  asked 
Gaston.  "  It  does  heighten  the  lights." 

"  Since  Rose  is  not  one  of  them,"  said  Beaudes- 
fords,  "  we  will  admit  that  good  people  are 
stupid." 

"  And  so  are  successful  ones,"  said  the  little 
witch.  "  They  stand  like  Beaudesfords,"  depre 
cating  offence  with  her  pretty  smile,  "  in  such  a 
glare  of  sunshine  as  to  be  commonplace ;  like  a 
picture  without  perspective.  Give  me  Hassan  of 
the  Desert, — somebody  with  a  battle  to  fight 
inside  or  outside  ;  for  my  ideal  is  "  — 

"  Grand,  gloomy,  and  peculiar,"  laughed  Beau 
desfords. 

"  But  you,  Major  Gaston  "  — 

"  I  am  no  darling  of  good-fortune  certainly." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  envious  of  Beaudesfords,  I  see. 
Peste!  I  had  much  rather  be  a  hero  !  "  and  she 
sent  the  macaw  fluttering  and  screaming  to  his 
perch,  having  covered  Catherine  sufficiently  with 
her  chatter. 

Beaudesfords  laughed  his  assent  again. 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE  NIGHT.  35 

"  What  are  you  talking  of,  Rose  ? "  cried 
Mamma  Stanhope. 

"  She  has  been  reading  French  novels,"  said 
Caroline.  "  And  you  are  obliged  to  go  at  once, 
Major  Gaston  ?  " 

"  Not  necessarily,  but  I  have  some  prepara 
tions" — 

"  And  two  months  to  make  them  in,"  said 
Beaudesfords.  "He  "is  to  explore  one  of  the 
great  Central- American  routes ;  and  the  expedi 
tion  —  himself  and  a  couple  of  Caribs  —  does  not 
start  until  August.  Do  you  remember  when  my 
guardian  took  me  on  his  pilgrimage  down  among 
the  thunderbolted  hills  and  arrowy  rivers  of  the 
isthmus  ?  How  wild  Catherine  was  to  go  !  " 

"  Green  and  salad  days,"  said  Catherine,  open 
ing  her  lips  for  the  first  time  since  his  entrance. 

".We  told  her  women  were  in  the  way:  they 
could  never  stand,  like  Cortez  and  his  men, 
1  silent  upon  a  peak  in  Darien.' ' 

"That  was  the  time  you  found  your  coppers  ?  " 
asked  Gaston. 

"  Your  what  ?  "  said  Caroline,  in  her  thirst  for 
useful  knowledge. 

"  Didn't  my  guardian  ever  tell  you  ?  In  one 
of  the  old  Spanish  towns  they  were  coppering  a 


36  THE   THIEF   TN   THE   NIGHT. 

ship ;  and  among  the  material,  do  you  think,  were 
a  half-dozen  of  the  rarest  paintings  on  copper, 
stripped  from  some  cathedral.  I  bought  them 
for  a  song  ;  and  one  —  a  St.  Veronica,  I  fancy  — 
is  such  a  likeness  of  Catherine,  as  she  sits  there, 
that  I  swear  the  Inquisition  couldn't  get  it  away 
from  me ! " 

Gaston's  brow  darkened.  "  Don't  you  see  it  ?  " 
asked  Beaudesfords. 

"It  is  plain  enough ! "  returned  the  other, 
making  his  excuse  for  gazing  till  it  lightened  all 
his  gloom. 

"  Oh  ! "  cried  Rose,  "  to  tell  a  lady  that  her 
face  is  plain  enough ! " 

"  Suppose  you  come  and  see,"  said  Beaudes 
fords,  impetuously.  "  Mamma  Stanhope,  it  is  not 
a  day's  sail  up  the  river.  Take  the  demoiselles 
and  go  up  to  Beaudesfords  to-morrow  with  us : 
with  a  fair  wind,  and  the  tide  serving  at  day 
break,  we  shall  be  there  in  time  to  dine,  and  come 
down  on  the  midnight  ebb.  I  want  you  to  see 
how  I  have  carried  out  my  guardian's  plans  in 
the  improvements.  You  have  never  been  there 
since  he  and  you  came  together  to  bring  the  for 
lorn  little  wretch  that  you  found  crying  and  kick 
ing  on  the  floor  down  to  the  shelter  of  this  roof. 
What  say  ?  " 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  37 

Mamma  Stanhope  would  have  gone  to  the  moon 
if  Beaudesfords  had  led  the  way.  Catherine's 
objections  were  hushed ;  and  before  the  eastern 
stars  had  melted  into  the  flames  of  sunrise  the 
boat  had  stretched  its  wings,  and,  laden  with  such 
a  crew  as  it  never  bore  before,  went  flying  zigzag 
up  the  river  that  crept  from  gray  to  gold  with 
morning  breaking  on  the  banks,  reaching  its  des 
tination  by  noon,  when,  by  Beaudesfords'  ukase, 
the  party  scattered  for  a  nap  before  they  should 
be  summoned  to  a  dinner  for  which  a  telegram 
posted  from  the  village  had  already  prepared  his 
housekeeper. 

Mamma  Stanhope  sunk  among  her  pillows, 
deep  and  downy  as  clouds,  enjoying  into  the  core 
of  her  heart  the  sumptuousness  about  her,  already 
mistress  of  it  in  prospective,  and  sleeping  the 
sleep  of  the  just.  Caroline,  of  altogether  too 
common  clay  to  keep  awake  when  a  luxurious 
cushion  offered  its  repose,  followed  her  example  ; 
while  Rose,  like  a  tired  child,  had  been  dozing  in 
the  boat  itself.  Only  Catherine,  with  a  grieved 
and  outraged  sense  of  the  indelicacy  of  bringing 
her  here  to  spread  her  price  before  her,  —  the  last 
thing,  assuredly,  that  Beaudesfords  would  have 
thought  of,  —  was  stung  wide  awake  ;  and,  feeling 


38  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

the  house  to  be  as  insupportable  as  a  prison,  she 
threw  her  scarf  over  her  head,  and,  wandering 
down  the  garden,  had  strolled  beyond,  pausing 
where  a  growth  of  lofty  oaks  spread  a  perpetual 
canopy  of  glancing  gold  and  emerald,  while  the 
trunks  made  mighty  colonnades  down  the  long 
and  open  woodland. 

She  paused,  because  Gaston  stood  there :  un 
willing  to  join  him,  and  thinking  he  had  not  seen 
her,  she  was  about  to  retrace  her  way,  when  all 
at  once  a  distant  voice,  calling  and  commanding, 
arrested  her ;  and  then  a  great,  open-mouthed 
bay,  a  war-cry,  resounded  in  rough  music,  and  an 
enormous  mastiff,  but  one  remove  from  the  gray 
wolf  of  northern  forests,  flashed  past  her,  and 
flew  at  Gaston' s  throat.  She  stood  rooted  for 
that  moment,  while  the  man,  bent  backward  in 
the  dreadful  contest,  seized  the  jaws  of  the  mon 
ster,  wrenched  them  open  from  the  heavy  frieze 
they  had  caught,  and,  with  a  blow  of  his  fist  that 
resounded  like  a  sledge-hammer,  had  felled  the 
brute  to  the  ground. 

He  came  up  to  Catherine,  almost  directly  after 
ward,  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  "  Which  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Stanhope,  when  she  one  day  told  her 
about  it,  —  "  which  brute  ?  " 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE  NIGHT.  39 

"  Which  brute  ?  "  said  Catherine,  coolly. 
"  Why,  Gaston,  of  course." 

"  Were  you  much  frightened  ?  "  Gaston  asked. 
"  The  fellow  has  a  grudge  against  me.  I  had  no 
idea  the  wolf  had  such  a  memory  though.  Beau- 
desfords  should  not  have  let  him  loose  with  you 
upon  the  grounds.  He  is  one  of  the  pets  of  the 
place." 

"  You  must  come  in  and  have  your  wound 
dressed,"  she  said  quickly.  "  Some  day  you  will 
be  going  mad !  " 

"  Thank  you,  there  is  no  wound  to  dress.  He 
has  only  torn  my  jacket  and  grazed  the  skin." 

Beaudesfords  came  running  up,  white  and 
breathless.  "  My  God,  Gaston  !  "  he  cried :  "  I 
thought  you  were  done  for  !  I  saw  the  struggle." 

"  Oh,  it  was  magnificent ! "  said  Catherine. 

"  Heyday!  you  should  have  been  a  Roman  girl 
to  applaud  at  the  great  circuses,  where  you  could 
have  seen  men  eaten  up  alive  any  day.  Hurry 
up  to  the  house,  Gaston.  Mrs.  Gray  will  make 
all  right.  Is  the  flesh  torn  ?  " 

"  The  merest  trifle.  I  hope  I  have  not  injured 
the  beast,"  looking  back  where  the  mastiff  had 
struggled  up  on  his  fore-feet.  "  But  so  warm  a 
welcome  "  — 


40  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

"  I  will  settle  his  case.  There  is  only  one 
penalty.  If  you  will  go  up  with  Catherine." 

"  Does  Mr.  Beaudesfords  value  such  a  creat 
ure  ?  "  asked  Catherine,  as  they  moved  away. 

"  Yes :  I  am  sorry  to  say  as  much  as  anything 
at  Beaudesfords.  He  has  belonged  to  him  for 
years,  and  at  one  time,  when  lost  in  the  snow 
between  these  hills,  rescued  him  from  death. 
He  has  some  human  traits,  however, — jealous 
of  his  master's  friends  and  hating  me." 

"  Is  it  so  much  a  human  trait  to  hate  you  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  be  so  melodramatic  as  to  say  so," 
said  Gaston,  in  a  bitter  voice  that  answered  for 
him. 

They  were  walking  rapidly,  but  stopped  just 
then  at  what  seemed  to  Catherine  the  most 
beautiful  sight  of  all  her  life :  it  was  a  flight  of 
birds  that  darkened  the  air,  that  made  a  thou 
sand  lightnings  in  the  sunshine,  wings  and  wings 
thicker  than  autumn  leaves,  scattering,  uniting, 
rising  into  heaven,  rushing  over  them  and  win 
nowing  the  air  like  grain  till  they  became  lost 
and  swallowed  in  the  blue. 

"  Ah,  how  lovely  !  "  cried  Catherine. 

"  They  fly  as  if  Epaminondas  manoeuvred 
them,"  said  Gaston.  "  Strange  that  the  resist- 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  41 

ance  of  the  air  should  shape  their  flight  into  the 
very  wedge  to  cleave  it.  Yes:  every  thing  is 
lovely  at  Beaudesfords.  Every  sound  makes 
music  —  listen!" 

It  was  only  the  echo  of  a  pistol-shot,  repeated 
and  repeated  till  it  died  in  a  silvery  sough. 

They  turned,  ere  the  echo  expired :  there  was 
a  little  puff  of  smoke  dissipating  under  the  oaks, 
the  mastiff  had  bounded  and  fallen  over  dead, 
and  Beaudesfords  was  hastening  away.  Cathe 
rine  shivered  as  she  went  in,  finding  herself 
standing  as  it  were  between  two  such  volcanic 
foci ;  and  nothing  being  said  about  the  mastiff 
and  his  end,  when  Beaudesfords,  gay  and  smiling, 
reappeared  to  take  Mamma  Stanhope  in  to  din 
ner,  she  also,  for  many  a  day  thereafter,  said 
nothing. 

What  a  dinner  it  was  !  These  young  women, 
bred  upon  simple  fare  and  in  simple  ways,  could 
hardly  taste  the  wonderful  viands  in  view  of  the 
wonderful  service,  china,  brilliant  and  brittle  as 
bubbles,  the  epergne  a  piece  of  jewelry,  glasses 
like  rock-crystal,  the  frosted  silver  and  beaten 
gold  ;  and  to  think  that  it  was  all  within  Cathe 
rine's  reach !  Even  Rose  went  over  to  the 
enemy.  Perhaps  the  exquisite  Moselle,  in  whose 


42  THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

sparkle  you  tasted  the  Muscat  grape  itself, 
warmed  Mrs.  Stanhope's  blood  more  generously 
than  was  its  wont ;  for  she  fairly  bubbled  with 
pleasure  when  her  glance  followed  Catherine  by 
and  by  as  she  moved  down  the  hall  among  the 
pictures  and  bronzes  and  enamelled  armors,  re 
membering  how  Catherine  loved  splendor  and 
queendom,  the  rustle  of  silk,  the  whiteness  of 
ermine.  Beaudesfords'  eyes  followed  her  with  a 
different  thought.  How  sweet  her  presence  and 
her  grace  seemed  in  these  great  rooms  where  so 
seldom  of  late  years  had  'there  been  any  thing  to 
be  seen  better  than  wreaths  of  tobacco  smoke ! 
how  sweet  her  voice  in  the  halls  that,  in  the  in 
tervals  of  long  silence  and  disuse,  had  so  seldom 
rung  with  any  thing  but  the  hilarity  of  late  car 
rousals  !  Gastoii,  meanwhile,  busied  himself  in 
cutting  little  devils  and  dragons  out  of  butter 
nuts:  he  had  no  eyes  for  any  thing  but  his 
handiwork. 

So  at  last  the  St.  Veronica  had  been  seen  and 
pronounced  to  be  Catherine  herself,  so  much  so 
that  it  vexed  our  young  lady  a  little  to  leave  it 
in  Beaudesfords'  possession ;  then  the  grounds 
had  been  travelled  over  and  the  improvements 
lauded  by  Mrs.  Stanhope ;  the  housekeeper  had 


THE   THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT.  43 

repaired  the  rents  in  Gaston's  jacket ;  and  in  the 
evening  twilight  they  dropped  down  the  river. 

The  gentle  current  bore  them  along  slowly 
at  first,  underneath  a  shaking  sail,  —  it  was  the 
movement  of  a  dream :  then  the  tide  ran  down 
more  strongly,  the  breeze  came  in  pursuit,  and 
they  heard  the  river  hissing  behind  them  as  it 
closed  over  the  gash  their  keel  made.  The  stars 
came  out,  and  sparkled  as  though  the  wind  fanned 
their  fires.  Beaudesfords,  alive  with  gayety, 
seemed  to  sparkle  back  at  them.  Gaston,  also 
unbending,  became  genial  again  after  his  fashion  : 
soon  he  began  to  sing, —  sweet  and  sonorous 
tones.  Presently  Catherine  was  singing  too  :  his 
breath  came  fast  as  he  heard  her,  the  voice  was 
so  delicious, — his  own  trembled,  he  grasped  the 
tiller  more  clos'ely,  as  if  he  could  control  himself 
by  controlling  another  thing,  and  poured  out  a 
volume  of  melody  on  which  hers  seemed  to  rise 
and  float  like  some  white-winged  sea-bird  on  a 
sustaining  flood.  Beaudesfords  leaned  back,  his 
face  in  the  starlight  shining  with  enjoyment.  A 
school  of  shad  followed  in  their  wake,  leaping 
and  flashing  out  of  the  dark  stream.  "  See," 
said  Beaudesfords,  in  the  succeeding  silence,  "  all 
the  lurleys  and  creatures  of  the  deep  have  risen 


44  THE  THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

at  your  song,  are  following  after  us,  presently 
will  be  aboard  and  sink  us  1  It  makes  me  shiver ! 
Oh  for  a  lanthorn  and  a  spear,  and  such  a  break 
fast  of  planked  mermaid  as  you  should  have  to 
morrow,  Mamma  Stanhope ! " 

"No  more  shad  for  us,"  replied  Mamma,  "un 
less  you  want  to  make  us  phosphorescent. " 

"  We  are  sparkling  enough  now,  you  think  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  bittern  booming,"  said  Gaston. 
"  We  are  almost  home." 

"  What  a  run  it  has  been ! "  said  Catherine. 
"  How  sorry  I  am  !  What  is  there  more  intoxi 
cating  than  this  swift  motion  by  starlight  ?  " 

"One  thing  only,"  said  Gaston,  between  his 
teeth  and  unheard. 

"  There  is  the  cottage,"  said  Mamma.  "  See 
the  dew  on  the  hedges.  Come,  you  sleepy  chil 
dren  ! "  for  Rose  and  Caroline  had,  this  last 
hour,  been  little  more  than  ballast. 

"  How  the  wind  freshens  down  there  among 
the  breakers !  "  said  Gaston,  pointing  at  the  white 
line  that  fringed  the  river's  mouth. 

"  It  is  like  a  dance  of  death  by  beautiful  ghosts," 
answered  Catherine. 

"  Will  you  go  on,  Beaudesfords  ?  " 

"  Not  I.     Enough  of  this  for  one  day.     I  have 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  45 

always  had  my  doubts  if  heaven  wouldn't  pall  on 
me." 

"  I  never  shared  them,"  replied  Gaston. 

The  boat  touched  the  landing  under  the  lee  of 
the  steep  hill  which  you  climbed  to  the  Stanhope 
cottage.  Beaudesfords  sprung  ashore,  helped  out 
Mrs.  Stanhope,  and  passed  Rose  and  Caroline 
along. 

"  But  you,"  said  Gaston  to  Catherine,  "  would 
like  to  tempt  that  distance  ?  " 

The  rudder  turned,  the  sail  flapped  and  filled, 
the  painter  slipped  from  Beaudesfords'  grasp  and 
plashed  in  the  water ;  and  before  Mrs.  Stanhope's 
warning  voice  could  be  lifted, 'Gaston  and  Cath 
erine  were  flying  out  to  sea. 

Catherine  stood  forward  by  the  mast,  Gaston 
sat  in  the  stern  ;  but  what  a  strange  freedom 
rioted  through  their  hearts  alike  as  they  went 
coursing  over  the  channel,  rising  on  the  broad 
tide-waves,  plunging  up  and  down  in  the  chop 
upon  the  bar,  then  soaring  and  sinking  with  a 
large  wild  motion  on  the  great  sea-swells,  while 
silver  thunders  filled  their  ears,  and  tall  foam- 
phantoms  rose  and  fell  in  misty  whiteness  every 
where  about  them.  Catherine  was  where  she 
had  never  been,  —  in  a  narrow  strait  that  wound 


46  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

safely  between  two  cruel  sandbars  and  horns  of 
rock,  so  that  she  found  herself  with  tumultuous 
waters  before  her  and  behind  her,  on  this  side 
and  on  that,  surrounded  by  stormy  sea  and  starlit 
darkness  in  the  midst  of  the  breakers. 

Since  Gaston  knew  his  way  in,  he  surely  knew 
it  out,  —  it  never  occurred  to  her  to  doubt  him,  — 
all  was  well  if  the  wind  held,  if  the  mast  held. 
The  moment  was  too  splendid  for  fear. ;  and  fear 
or  not,  they  could  not  have  heard  each  other 
speak.  On  one  side  now  the  waves  shot  up 
across  the  gloom  in  spires  of  silver ;  on  the  other 
boiled  the  whirlpool,  a  black  pit  of  fire  and 
spume ;  just  beyond  was  the  still  and  open  water. 
Suddenly  a  snap  that  Catherine  never  heard : 
the  tiller  had  broken,  and  sent  Gaston  reeling 
from  his  seat,  with  the  fragment  in  his  hand ; 
the  boat  staggered  as  if  it  had  been  struck  by 
death,  then  drifted  broad  on  the  breaker  that  in 
another  moment  would  have  swamped  her.  But 
before  that  moment  came,  Gaston'  had  thrown 
himself  upon  the  floor,  had  thrust  his  long  arm 
through  the  tiller-hole  to  the  shoulder,  and  with  a 
hand  of  iron  had  seized  and  held  the  rudder  as 
the  tiller  did.  The  boat  hung  and  trembled  like 
a  creature  about  to  take  some  dreaded  leap  ;  in 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  47 

spite  of  his  gigantic  strength  the  cords  knotted 
and  rose  on  his  arm,  and  sent  a  pain  grinding 
through  his  body  that  he  had  reason  to  remember 
for  months;  then  the  chasing  wave  came  on, bent 
to  its  fall,  broke  in  a  line  of  whiteness,  rolled  up 
and  caught  them  on  its  back  and  tossed  the  boat 
over  into  safe  water.  Gaston  twisted  his  arm 
free,  trimmed  his  sail,  and,  steering  with  an  oar, 
took  the  outer  way  through  open  sea,  and  so  up 
the  winding  channel  and  home  again. 

When  it  was  all  over,  Catherine  realized  the 
peril  they  had  passed  through  ;  but  Gaston  stood 
with  the  oar  in  his  left  hand  half  behind  him,  and 
looking  forward  so  unconcernedly  that  she  scorned 
to  do  less.  So  she  wrung  the  spray  out  of  her 
hair  in  silence,  —  perhaps  there  would  have  been 
a  trifle  too  much  flutter  in  the  voice  above  all  that 
palpitation. 

The  boat  went  about,  and  they  made  the  shore. 
Gaston  dropped  the  sail,  threw  over  the  anchor, 
and  handed  her  out,  saying  some  trivial  thing. 
Then  he  went  up  the  steep,  dark-thicketed  bank 
beside  her,  where  wafts  of  sweetness  floated  down 
from  the  garden,  and  left  her  within  the  little 
gate.  She  held  her  hand  across  :  he  took  it  for 
a  moment,  still  standing  on  the  other  side,  tower- 


48  THE   THIEF   IN   THE  NIGHT. 

ing  above  her  where  she  glowed  like  some  tropical 
blossom  just  opened  on  the  night ;  the  shadows 
of  the  tree-branches  waved  round  them,  only  the 
glint  of  a  star  broke  through,  the  murmuring 
river  shone  in  a  mystical  glimmer  below  ;  all  the 
world  slept,  the  distant  shrilling  of  the  cricket 
seemed  but  the  silence  singing  to  itself.  It  was 
a  spell  of  hush  and  midnight  and  dew,  not  broken 
even  when  two  faces  bent  together  and  the  lips  in 
one  long  thrill  and  touch  of  passion  drew  the  soul 
from  each  other. 

Sleep  was  slow  in  descending  on  Catherine's 
eyes  that  night :  he  never  made  his  pillow  on 
such  flushed  and  burning  roses  as  her  cheeks. 
The  hours  passed  in  a  wild  and  happy  forgetful- 
ness,  the  deep  dream  of  love  and  innocence  that 
the  heart  dreams  with  waking  eyes.  The  face  of 
Gaston  was  the  thing  she  saw,  as  it  bent  slowly 
toward  her ;  his  figure,  as  he  stalked  away  into 
the  darkness.  Let  her  have  her  night's  pleasure 
in  remembering  it,  in  her  heart's  beating  up  one 
great  throb  of  bliss,  in  feeling  still  that  kiss  upon 
her  lips  :  the  next  time  that  she  saw  Gaston  she 
had  been  for  more  than  two  years  the  wife  of 
Beaudesfords. 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  49 


IY. 


GASTON  did  not  come  on  the  next  morning,  nor 
in  the  afternoon.  Instead  of  him,  at  night, 
Beaudesfords  came.  Catherine  heard  his  voice 
trolling  some  catch  as  he  approached :  the  color 
sprang  again  to  her  cheeks,  with  the  thought  that 
his  silent  companion  was  beside  him.  ^ 

"It  is  insupportable ! "  said  he.  "I  never  can 
stay  down  there  alone ;  and  1  cannot  go  away, 
you  know !  I  shall  come  up  here,  Mamma  Stan 
hope,  bag  and  baggage.  Gaston  has  gone,  —  gone 
when  I  had  him  safe  for  a  month !  He  would 
not  delay  another  day;  said  he  had  stayed  too 
long  already ;  and,  having  letters  to  write,  he 
could  not  make  his  farewell  call,  but  charged  me 
to  present  apologies,  and  say  every  thing  that 
was  necessary.  So  please  consider  it  said." 

"  Major  Gaston  gone  ! "  exclaimed  Rose. 

"Isn't  that  a  sudden  thing?"  asked  Mamma 
Stanhope 


50  THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

"  And  like  all  sudden  things.  I  detest  sur 
prises  :  there  never  was  a  pleasant  one.  He  goes 
to  Europe  first,  and  then  postr-haste  to  the  isthmus. 
Oh !  that 's  an  immense  nature  of  his,  Mamma 
Stanhope  !  "  said  Beaudesfords,  enthusiastically. 
"  Spurning  indulgences,  comforts,  friends ;  not 
wishing  for  money,  not  caring  for  fame  ;  not  even 
hoping  to  associate  his  name  with  his  achieve 
ments, — just  rapt  in  his  work  for  his  work's 
sake." 

"  I  daresay,"  said  Mrs.  Stanhope. 

"  How  you  do  idealize  people  ! "  said  Caroline. 
"  For  my  part,  I  pronounce  him  a  spleeny  man, 
who  wants  the  doctor !  " 

"  Too  long  already,"  repeated  Catherine.  But 
she  did  not  say  it  aloud.  She  stepped  through 
the  window  and  down  the  garden,  and  stood  in 
the  shadow  where  she  had  stood  last  night,  —  too 
much  bewildered  to  think  or  feel  till  the  pain  rose 
and  stung  away  the  numbness ;  then  heart  and 
brain  had  it  out  between  them  on  that  battles-field. 
Around  her  were  the  same  low-hanging  branches, 
the  same  flower-shaken  odors,  the  same  dusky 
alleys  ;  below  her  the  dewy  bank,  the  dark-gleam 
ing  river,  the  wide,  low  landscape  stretching  on 
in  reach  after  reach  of  deeper  shade  ;  but  from  it 


THE   THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT.  51 

all  the  meaning  had  been  robbed.  She  went  back 
to  the  house  at  length,  pale  and  tired ;  hope  and 
joy  had  fallen  slowly  from  her  like  a  borrowed 
investiture ;  she  was  a  desolate  woman. 

The  summer  passed.  Beaudesfords  had  long 
since  followed  Gaston's  example,  but  Mrs.  Stan 
hope's  table  was  heavy  with  the  fruit  and  flowers 
that  every  day  arrived  from  him.  If  the  truth 
were  told,  there  was  not  a  great  deal  else  on  the 
table ;  for  Mrs.  Stanhope's  property  had  suffered 
a  serious  diminution  by  the  opening  to  the  public 
of  a  bridge,  which  caused  a  toll-gate  and  turnpike 
that  had  always  rendered  her  good  revenue  to 
become  almost  worthless.  She  was  not  the 
sweetest  counsellor  and  adviser  to  Catherine  under 
such  circumstances,  and  only  a  dozen  times  a  day 
held  up  to  her,  in  a  mute  and  well-bred  way,  the 
trouble,  if  not  suffering,  that  her  ridiculous  tem 
pers  had  inflicted  on  her  family.  For  Caroline 
had  become  now  a  confirmed  invalid,  scarcely 
leaving  her  sofa,  and  requiring  doctors  and  dain 
ties  and  appliances  far  beyond  her  mother's 
means  of  supply.  Catherine  walked  through  the 
alleys  of  the  chill  November  garden,  with  the  fall 
ing  leaves  rustling  round  her  feet,  and  the  wind 
sighing  in  the  branches.  She  sighed  as  well :  no 


52  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

longer  with  sorrow  of  sore  heart  or  rankle  of 
wounded  pride,  but  with  a  heavy  indifference, 
since  she  found  nothing  in  life  worth  the  living. 
Gaston's  expedition  had  departed  at  last,  and 
Beaudesfords  had  dropped  in  upon  them  again  on 
his  way  home.  He  was  talking  to  her  mother 
when  she  came  in  from  the  river-bank,  with  her 
hands  full  of  scarlet  alder-berries  and  the  satin 
milk-weed,  whose  bursting  down  all  starred  with 
the  brown  seeds,  looked  like  a  branchful  of  spar 
rows,  as  he  said,  rising  to  take  them  from  her. 
A  flare  of  the  fitful  firelight  showed  him  her  face, 
grown  white  and  thin.  It  pleased  him,  for  an 
instant,  with  the  selfish  fancy  that  she  had  missed 
him ;  and  then  it  came  over  him  that  soon  they 
might  all  be  missing  her.  The  sound  of  the 
autumn  wind  round  the  gables  made  his  flesh 
creep :  he  piled  up  the  blazing  brush  in  the  chim 
ney  himself,  and  wheeled  a  screen  between  her 
chair  and  the  window ;  but  he  saw,  while  he  did 
so,  a  dislike  to  have  attention  drawn  to  her  in 
that  way.  He  began  then  some  recital  or  other 
to  Mamma  Stanhope,  moving  about  the  room  in 
his  usual  nervous  manner  when  telling  any  inci 
dent  whose  occurrence  had  excited  him  at  all; 
knocked  the  screen  aside  as  he  finished,  told  Rose 


THE  THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  53 

she  looked  like  a  little  actress  whose  photograph 
half  the  world  was  going  crazy  over,  romped  with 
the  Blenheim  and  the  macaw,  then  paused  on  the 
rug  in  front  of  Catherine  to  take  breath,  and  to 
compliment  her  casually  on  the  improvement  in 
her  appearance,  till  the  color  rose  upon  her  cheek 
indeed. 

As  he  stood  there,  all  at  once  a  curious  sound 
above  them  of  crumbling  plaster  and  falling  sand, 
a  puff  of  dust,  and  the  great  mirror  over  the 
mantel  had  loosened,  and  was  plunging  down. 
Catherine  darted  with  upstretched  arms,  and 
snatched  a  corner  of  the  frame  with  all  the  force 
she  had.  Beaudesfords  had  turned  in  a  breath 
and  caught  it  with  stronger  hands:  a  second 
later,  and  it  would  have  splintered  in  his  flesh 
and  crushed  him  to  the  floor.  They  managed  to 
hold  it  up  between  them  till  assistance  came ; 
then  Catherine  ran  to  her  room  for  repairs, 
and  Beaudesfords  to  his  inn  for  a  change  of 
linen. 

He  came  back  undaunted  though,  directly,  for 
it  was  not  much  more  than  a  dozen  rods  away ; 
and,  entering  again,  sat  down  on  the  cushion  at 
Catherine's  feet,  taking  her  white  worsted  skeins 
on  his  own  hands.  They  were  alone ;  for  Mrs. 


54  THE  THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

Stanhope  was  attending  to  her  tea-table,  and 
Rose  had  gone  upstairs  to  see  if  Caroline  would 
come  down. 

Beaudesfords  held  his  skein  to  the  end  without 
a  word.  As  he  surrendered  the  thread,  he  look 
ing  up,  she  down,  their  glances  met,  and  he 
laughed.  There  are  some  people  who  always 
laugh  with  any  happy  agitation.  "  I  am  going  to 
ask  you  a  question,"  said  he  then,  with  just  a  trace 
of  hesitation  in  the  voice,  in  spite  of  his  audacious 
eye.  "  Were  you  ever  sorry  for  your  evil  be 
havior  on  one  morning  of  last  summer  ?  " 

She  wondered  what  he  meant  for  just  a  second, 
when,  being  no  coquette,  with  a  full  heart  she 
answered,  "  Never." 

"  Then,  may  I  ask,  why  under  the  sun,  or  the 
ceiling,  you  sprung  to  my  rescue  in  that  way,  at 
the  risk  of  broken  arms,  just  now  ?  " 

She  surveyed  him  with  surprise.  "  I  would 
have  done  it,"  she  cried,  "  for  any  clod  that  had 
stood  there." 

"  So  !  But,  Catherine,  tell  me  one  thing.  Am 
I  positively  distasteful  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no,"  she  answered  him  impatiently. 
"  I  like  you  well  enough." 

"  And  you   can  look   on   my  perpetual   com- 


THE  THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT.  55 

panionship  with  nothing  like  pleasure  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  With  nothing  like  pleasure,"  she  replied. 

He  was  standing  now,  but  still  looking  at  her 
downcast  face  and  heightened  tint,  —  the  perfect 
picture,  —  eyes  that  were  not  to  sparkle  for  him, 
smiles  that  were  not  to  brighten,  lips  that  should 
never  be  his.  Before  he  knew  what  he  was 
doing,  he  had  stooped  and  kissed  them ;  had 
fulfilled  his  old,  daring  dream,  and  made  the 
mouth  his  own,  —  the  fragrant  and  delicious 
mouth ;  lips  that  another  kiss,  unknown  to 
any,  had  left  sacred,  whose  touch  was  sac 
rilege. 

"  I  will  never  forgive  you !  "  she  cried. 

"  I  will  never  ask  you ! "  he  replied,  striding 
off;  but  in  a  trice  he  was  back  again. 

"  At  your  feet,"  he  said,  throwing  himself  on 
the  low  seat  once  more.  "  You  would  not  de 
spise  so  much  a  lover  less  humble.  Gaston,  per 
haps.  A  man  that  takes  your  heart,  and  never 
sues  for  it ! "  He  did  not  see  her  wince,  nor 
hang  her  head  with  a  kind  of  shame,  as  he  went 
on.  "  But  it  was  unpardonable.  You  cannot 
overlook  it.  I  should  love  you  less,  Catherine, 
if  you  failed  to  resent  such  a  liberty." 


56  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

All  in  a  moment  her  head  had  fallen  on  her 
knees,  and  she  was  sobbing  as  if  she  would  break 
her  heart.  Once  before,  indeed,  she  had  failed 
to  resent  such  a  liberty  ! 

Beaudesfords  started  to  his  feet,  pacing  quickly 
up  and  down  the  room,  returned,  and  took  both 
her  hands  in  his. 

u  Catherine,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  worry  you 
again  with  any  wishes  of  mine.  I  had  thought 
that,  possibly,  if  you  went  away  with  me,  among 
strangers,  learning  to  lean  upon  me,  to  need  me, 
you  might  also  learn  to  love  me."  After  all,  the 
intonation  came  like  a  question. 

She  did  not  look  up,  nor  say  a  word.  What 
she  thought,  who  knows  ?  Comfort  for  Caroline, 
peace  with  her  mother,  a  future  for  Rose,  —  the 
wealth  and  splendor  that  she  loved,  sumptuous 
ease,  the  certainty  of  honoring,  the  possibility  of 
more,  —  since  life  was  so  arid,  since  he  was  so 
kind.  Still  she  never  stirred. 

Her  silence  made  a  hope  spring  up  in  his  heart, 
sweeter  than  any  words,  a  charm,  luring  him  on 
to  his  ruin,  he  once  said  to  himself  when  remem 
bering  it.  Still  silent,  his  arm  was  about  her. 
He  had  gathered  her  unresisting,  unresenting,  to 
himself. 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  57 

"  But  you  know  I  do  not  love  you,"  she  whis 
pered,  lifting  her  face  at  last  with  the  tears  yet 
undried. 

"  I  know,  too,  that  if  I  do  not  make  you,  I 
shall  not  deserve  to  have  you,"  he  said.  "  My 
life  is  yours.  You  must !  You  shall !  " 

When  the  bell  rung,  and  Mrs.  Stanhope's  voice 
itself  was  heard  in  further  summons,  they  crossed 
together  into  the  little  tea-room.  Beaudesfords 
went  behind  Mrs.  Stanhope,  and,  bending  back 
her  head,  gave  her  forehead  a  filial  salute. 
"  Mamma  Stanhope,"  he  said,  "  there  is  going  to 
be  a  wedding  here  next  month.  You  are  all 
going  to  live  with  me  at  Beaudesfords." 

It  was  even  as  he  said.  There  was  a  wedding 
there.  Catherine  had  no  reason  for  delay,  and 
they  all  went  to  live  at  Beaudesfords.  But  when 
his  wife  grew  more  white  and  thin  with  every 
day,  more  listless  and  languid,  failing  to  find 
pleasure  in  her  splendor,  in  the  envy  of  her 
friends,  to  like  the  lustre  of  her  silks  or  the 
glory  of  her  gems,  Beaudesfords  took  her  away 
alone  with  him  into  strange  scenes  and  foreign 
countries.  Tender  care,  serene  skies,  enjoy 
ment  of  all  the  novel  pleasure  that  the  Old 
World  has  to  give,  beguiled  her  from  herself  at 
3* 


58  THE   THIEF   IN  THE  NIGHT. 

length.  She  came  home,  when  two  years  were 
over,  a  woman  full  of  health,  with  a  gracious  yet 
commanding  presence,  more  beautiful  than  the 
vision  of  a  dream,  satisfied  enough  with  life  ; 
and  when  she  crossed  the  threshold,  the  first 
person  that  she  saw  was  Gaston. 


THE   THIEF   IN  THE  NIGHT.  59 


V. 

"  BEAUDESFOEDS  ! " 

"  Gaston ! " 

"  The  last  man  I  dreamed  of  seeing  here  !  " 

"  The  first  that  I  desire  to  see !  You  remem 
ber  my  wife,  Gaston  ?  " 

How  long  ago  it  seemed  to  him  since  Gaston 
had  seen  her !  He  himself  had  been  so  nearly 
happy  that  these  two  years  were  like  a  blessed 
age,  beyond  which  he  could  scarcely  recollect. 
He  had  known  well  in  the  beginning  that  Cathe 
rine  did  not  love  him  ;  but  when  month  by  month 
of  their  foreign  sojourn  went  by,  and  under  the  sun 
beams  of  his  constant  care  her  heart  seemed  to 
open  like  a  flower,  with  little  acts  of  graciousness, 
an  intimate  word,  a  clinging  to  his  arm,  a  seat 
reserved  beside  herself;  when,  into  all  the  familiar 
intercourse  of  daily  life,  sometimes  there  slipped 
from  her  lips  a  half-endearing  term,  sometimes  a 
smile,  —  once,  he  remembered,  a  caress,  a  slight 


60  THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

and  brief  and  trivial  thing,  yet  a  caress,  —  then 
Beaudesfords'  heart  had  lightened  of  all  the  load 
it  ever  bore,  and  he  believed  that  ere  long  he 
should  win  her  for  his  own  indeed,  that  her  heart 
would  be 'his,  as  his  had  so  long  been  hers  ;  and 
possessed  of  what  he  fancied  to  be  an  infinite 
patience,  he  waited,  and  day  and  night  his  one 
thought  was  her  pleasure.  But,  in  fact,  Beaudes 
fords  had  no  patience  at  all :  he  had  in  its  place 
a  plentiful  perseverance.  He  had  never  been 
called  upon  to  suffer  seriously :  had  he  been,  he 
would  have  rebelled  and  fallen  at  once.  He  could 
not  suffer  in  his  siege  of  Catherine's  heart:  it 
must  end  but  one  way,  he  thought,  and  it  was  all 
a  precious  endeavor.  To  serve  those  we  love  is  a 
delight.  Beaudesfords  then,  during  these  two 
years,  had  been  happy  in  earning  the  wages  of 
bliss.  The  time  seemed  to  him  a  period  that  had 
no  date  behind  it.  He  forgot  that  Catherine  had 
ever  stood  upon  the  verge  of  want,  forgot  that  he 
had  ever  conferred  a  benefit  upon  her.  This 
wealth  and  ease  seemed  to  provide  her  natural 
atmosphere  ;  and  thus  he  almost  forgot  that  Gas- 
ton  and  she  had  ever  exchanged  a  glance. 

"  You  remember  my  wife,  Gaston,"   said  he. 
"  You  remember  her  when   you  first  saw  her, 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  61 

standing  on  that  ledge  of  rocks  ;  "  for  the  picture 
she  had  made  in  standing  there  flashed  back  upon 
him  at  the  moment.  "  Ah,  that  was  a  thousand 
years  ago !  She  was  an  airy  nothing  then,"  he 
said :  "  now  she  has  a  local  habitation  and  a  name. 
She  is  Beaudesfords  of  Beaudesfords  now !  " 

To  all  this  Gaston  replied  not  a  syllable.  He 
only  bowed  lower  and  lower  over  a  cold  hand  that 
lay  :in  his  one  instant,  and  seemed  to  melt  away 
like  a  snow-flake ;  and  scarcely  could  it  be  said 
that  his  brown  face  darkened  with  a  deeper  hue 
than  the  mere  bending  gave  it. 

But  across  Catherine's  memory  flashed  another 
picture,  —  the  starlit  midnight,  with  the  swinging 
shadows  of  its  tree-branches,  his  lips  that  bent  to 
hers,  her  lips  that  rose  to  his  ;  and  a  bitter  flush 
of  shame  burst  over  throat  and  face,  and  dyed 
them  with  a  stain  that  Beaudesfords  had  never 
seen  before.  Then  she  had  passed  on  to  receive 
the  welcome  of  the  hurrying  and  clustering  ser 
vants,  and  to  her  mother's  rooms,  where  Mrs. 
Stanhope  and  her  other  daughters  sat  without 
suspicion  of  the  scene  below. 

Gaston  had  arrived  at  Beaudesfords  only  that 
day.  intending  to  take  away  with  him  various 
articles  of  his  property  that,  during  his  expedi- 


62  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

tion,  had  remained  under  the  protection  of  its 
roof.  Mrs.  Stanhope,  who  kept  the  house  in  her 
daughter's  absence,  or  rather  kept  the  house 
keeper,  and  who  held  one  of  the  diplomatic  prin 
ciples  of  always  treating  a  man  as  if  you  might 
some  day  want  to  use  him,  now  that  there  was  no 
danger,  with  Catherine  safely  provided  for,  and 
out  of  the  way  besides,  and  with  Rose  too  much 
of  Caroline's  mind  to  be  affected  one  way  or  the 
other  in  a  single  day  and  night,  felt  the  coming 
of  this  adventurous  gentleman  to  be  a  great  light- 
ener  of  the  tedium  she  experienced  in  their  splen 
did  but  lonesome  country-seat,  could  not  forbear 
reading  to  him,  in  her  magnanimity,  the  latest 
letters  from  her  son  and  daughter,  and  urged  him 
to  pass  the  night  beneath  the  roof  that  had,  in 
truth,  been  wont  to  be  as  often  his  shelter  as  that 
of  Beaudesfords  himself.  She  was  as  much  sur 
prised  as  everybody  else  when  Catherine  stood 
smiling  in  the  doorway,  like  the  embodiment  not 
only  of  a  great  sunbeam,  but  of  a  whole  sky  full 
of  sunshine ;  for  Beaudesfords  was  a  spendthrift 
in  surprises,  much  as  he  had  once  declared  that 
he  detested  them,  and  always  contrived  to  swoop 
down  on  his  household  when  they  thought  him  a 
hundred  horizons  away. 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT.  63 

Beaudesfords,  of  course,  would  not  hear  of 
Gaston's  leaving ;  on  the  contrary,  he  must  stay,  — 
stay  indefinitely.  Just  back  from  his  expedition, 
what  engagements  had  he  ?  None  at  all.  This 
was  his  home  :  he  had  no  other.  Did  he  under 
stand  that?  Did  he  suppose  that  because  he, 
Beaudesfords,  was  married,  his  wife  banished  his 
friends  ?  No :  Catherine  and  he  had  but  one 
wish.  The  western  wing,  as  of  old,  as  much  as 
he  wanted  of  it,  should  be  in  his  undisturbed  pos 
session  so  long  as  he  chose  to  occupy  it  or  to 
return  to  it :  if  ever  he  made  another  home  for 
himself,  with  a  hearth-stone  in  it,  and  anybody 
sitting  beside  the  hearth-stone,  well  and  good ; 
but  till  he  made  it,  —  and  Beaudesfords  didn't 
believe  he  was  a  marrying  man,  —  till  he  made  it, 
the  fiat  had  gone  forth :  bring  his  traps  down  to 
Beaudesfords. 

And  so  he  did. 


64  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 


VI. 


THERE  was  a  world  of  work  out  of  doors  for 
the  master  of  Beaudesfords.  A  thousand  things 
were  in  arrears.  Though  Mrs.  Stanhope  had 
done  the  best  a  woman  could,  her  dominion  ended, 
to  all  essential  purpose,  with  McRoy  in  the  flower- 
garden  :  her  arms  were  not  long  enough  to  reach 
the  limits  of  the  great  estate,  nor  strong  enough 
to  hold  it  in  subjection.  Beaudesfords  and  Gas- 
ton  spent  day  after  day  in  dismissing  and  engag 
ing,  superintending,  ordering,  and  seeing  the 
orders  executed.  Catherine,  wearied  with  travel 
apparently,  kept  her  room  in  great  measure. 
Mrs.  Stanhope's  managing  ways  held  all  in  order 
about  her ;  while  her  lively,  handsome  face,  and 
Rose's  bewitching  little  liberties,  and  Caroline's 
languor  and  exactions,  made  the  drawing-room 
scenes  any  thing  but  tiresome.  Still,  there  was 
a  great  vacuum  where  Catherine  should  have 
been.  Beaudesfords  too,  when  under  the  roof, 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT.  65 

divided  his  time  between  her  place  of  abode  and 
that  of  the  others  —  the  others  who  had  count 
less  things  to  say  and  hear  —  in  an  unsatisfac 
tory  manner.  And  so,  when  at  last  it  had  been 
decided  that  Gaston  was  to  remain,  and  after  one 
or  two  weeks  had  given  her  rest,  and  afforded  no 
earthly  reason  for  her  longer  absence,  one  day 
again  Catherine  took  up  her  sceptre,  and  began 
to  reign  through  her  prime-ministers. 

There  was  a  low  fire  on  the  wide  hearth,  that 
filled  a  small  portion  of  the  spacious  drawing- 
room  with  a  rich  and  ruddy  half-light :  the  rest 
of  it  was  remote  in  twilight  and  shadows.  But, 
just  as  the  door  swung  open,  a  long  frolicking 
flame  darted  into  life  and  shot  up  the  chimney  in  a 
flash  that  sent  its  ray  straight  to  the  spot  where 
Catherine  stood,  surveying  the  group  by  the  fire 
side,  a  revelation  of  light  herself.  The  two  men 
looked  up  together ;  and  if  she  were  not  photo 
graphed  upon  their  memories  for  ever,  as  she  de 
layed  that  instant,  it  is  because  no  photography 
has  any  means  of  perpetuating  such  color  and 
such  brilliance.  She  was  in  dinner-dress,  wear 
ing  a  heavy  gold-colored  fabric  full  of  lustre  and 
sweeping  from  her  in  broad  folds,  and  a  knot  of 
vivid  scarlet  geraniums  was  at  her  breast.  With 


66  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

her  pale,  gold-colored  hair,  with  the  sudden  bloom 
upon  her  cheeks,  with  her  wide  and  shining  eyes, 
she  seemed  the  very  answering  spirit  of  the  flame 
that  had  just  shot  up  to  the  outside  freedom  of 
stars  and  night.  There  was  that  about  Catherine 
always  reminding  Beaudesfords  of  light.  Gaston 
and  Beaudesfords  both  sprang  to  meet  her  ;  but 
Gaston  paused  after  the  first  motion,  and  it  was 
the  other  who  led  her  to  her  seat  and  brought  the 
cushion  for  her  feet.  If  Beaudesfords  had  shown 
one  atom  less  devotion,  had  demanded  something, 
refused  something,  not  so  lavishly  have  given  all, 
—  for  a  woman  loves  a  master,  not  a  slave ! 

"  Well,  Mistress  Beaudesfords,"  exclaimed 
Rose,  "  welcome  home  !  If  you  're  a  good  girl, 
you  may  stay :  you  may  sit  at  the  head  of  your 
own  table ! " 

"  Many  thanks,"  replied  Catherine,  slowly.  "  I 
shall  not  deprive  Mamma  of  her  seat." 

"  Mamma  likes  it,  though,"  said  Rose.  "  It  is 
a  remnant  of  authority.  If  we  are  naughty,  she 
cuts  off  our  soup." 

"  I  'm  sure,  Catherine,"  cried  Mrs.  Stanhope, 
"  I  shall  never  think  of  taking  your  place  in  your 
house." 

"  As  you  please,  Mamma,"  she  answered,  with 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  67 

the  air  of  one  speaking  on  a  disagreeable  topic. 
"  It  is  so  troublesome  for  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Mamma  Stanhope,"  exclaimed 
Beaudesfords,  who  would  perhaps  have  liked  to 
see  his  wife  the  mistress  of  his  house,  but  who 
would  not  have  her  troubled  even  to  humor  his 
fondest  wish.  "  She  is  too  worn  and  tired  yet, — by 
and  by,  perhaps ! "  And  he  turned  to  Catherine 
his  smiling,  asking  face. 

It  was  a  little  thing,  that  matter  of  Catherine's 
seat  at  table,  giving  the  housekeeper  her  orders, 
and  overlooking  her  accounts ;  but  it  involved  a 
greater  one.  To  have  assumed  her  place  at  once, 
that  would  have  been  a  sheltering  rampart ;  to 
have  directed  the  affairs  of  her  household,  it 
would  have  impressed  upon  her  the  fact  that  it 
was  her  household,  the  fact  of  how  it  became  hers ; 
to  have  been  the  mistress  in  Beaudesfords  would 
have  given  emphasis  to  its  master.  But  she 
shrank  from  all  that,  as  if  she  had  no  right  either 
to  the  burden  or  the  honor.  "  By  and  by,  per 
haps  !  "  repeated  Beaudesfords.  "  By  and  by," 
she  answered  wearily,  and  dropped  her  fan  into 
her  lap.  But  Beaudesfords  was  content:  with 
him,  so  much  was  always  the  promise  of  more. 
It  was  enough  just  to  see  her  there.  The  stream 


68  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

of  small  talk  rippled  from  the  others,  the  fire 
sparkled,  he  hovered  here  and  there,  restless  as 
some  winged  thing,  now  bending  over  Catherine, 
now  sparring  for  a  turn  with  Gaston,  now  won 
dering  if  dinner  would  never  be  served.  Rose 
joined  in  the  sparring ;  Caroline,  even,  had  her 
sofa  wheeled  up  that  she  might  lose  none  of  the 
hour's  enjoyment.  As  for  Catherine,  she  said 
nothing  ;  she  seldom  said  any  more  ;  she  was  one 
of  those  persons  whose  reticence  is  eloquence,  hav 
ing,  besides,  a  language  of  lip  and  cheek  and  eye, 
of  hand  and  breath ;  she  listened  to  the  utterance 
of  a  philosopher  or  of  a  fool,  and  understood  both, 
be  it  said ;  in  truth,  it  was  her  comprehensive 
ness  that,  when  one  was  habituated  to  her  beauty, 
impressed  the  most ;  too  thoroughly  womanly  to 
originate,  she  received  every  thing ;  and  whether 
it  were  through  some  clear  understanding,  or 
some  fine  instinct,  or  on  a  common  ground  of 
perfectly  developed  humanity,  the  speaker  always 
felt  that  not  a  syllable  was  lost  upon  his  listener. 
When  she  did  open  her  lips,  her  words  carried 
weight.  Thus  with  Beaudesfords,  well  wont  to 
her  ways,  other  women's  speech  indeed  might  be 
silver,  but  Catherine's  silence  was  golden. 

Gaston  sat  with  the  bright  tongs  in  his  hand, 


THE  THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  69 

stooping  forward,  and  building  up  an  edifice  of 
the  falling  coals,  watching  the  life  run  through 
them  and  die  ;  and  then  dinner  was  softly  an 
nounced,  and  Beaudesfords  called  Gaston  to 
Catherine,  and  himself  led  Mamma  Stanhope  to 
the  contested  seat.  But  that  touch  of  Catherine's 
hand  upon  his  arm  was  so  light  that  Gaston  could 
not  feel  it :  the  next  moment  it  was  withdrawn, 
and  she  had  taken  her  chair.  By  some  ill-will 
of  circumstance,  Mamma  Stanhope  failed  to  call 
Gaston  to  her  own  right  hand :  he  sat  at  Cathe 
rine's,  and  the  order  of  things  was  established. 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  is,"  said  Beaudesfords, 
when  they  were  again  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
sipping  their  coffee,  "  but,  faultless  as  I  used  to 
think  things  were  in  this  lodge,  they  never  seem 
one  half  so  home-like  as  in  your  charming  cot 
tage,  Mamma  Stanhope." 

"  That  is  because  there  are  none  of  our  little 
rooms,  where,  in  turning  round,  you  tipped  over 
the  centre-table,  and  put  an  elbow  through  the 
mirror,"  said  Rose.  "  How  can  you  be  at  home 
in  these  great  parlors,  with  their  alcoves  and 
suites  that  may  hold  a  thousand  ambuscades  ?  " 

"  Why  fear  ambuscades  with  a  soldier  beside 
you  ?  " 


70  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

"  And  then  the  music,"  complained  Caroline. 
"  It  spreads  into  thin  air." 

"  So  ? "  said  Beaudesfords.  "  Let  us  see. 
Catherine,  if  you  would  sing"  — 

To  his  surprise  she  rose  at  once.  Gaston  had 
just  given  his  cup  to  the  servant,  and  was  stand 
ing  before  her,  leaning  one  arm  on  the  mantel : 
perhaps  she  did  not  care  to  dwell  on  the  sight. 
Ere  he  could  offer  to  conduct  her,  a  scale  ran  up 
the  keys  of  the  piano :  she  had  seated  herself  and 
commenced  playing. 

"  Frost-bitten,"  said  Beaudesfords.  "  The  tones 
tinkle  like  icicles,  as  they  fall  from  your  fingers." 
He  lay  in  the  great  cushions  of  a  lounge,  their 
soft  carnation  lending  his  face  a  flush,  and  deep 
ening  the  tint  of  his  yellow  curls.  Catherine 
looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  thought  of  some  of 
the  richly  colored  canvases  she  had  stood  before 
in  Europe.  His  head  was  something  superb : 
it  had  the  look  of  some  Capitolean  god's  ;  such 
youth  and  beauty  had  a  kind  of  majesty  next  to 
immortal  majesty.  Then,  the  piano  facing  down 
the  room,  she  raised  her  glance,  and  Gaston  still 
stood  against  the  mantel,  surveying  her  with  his 
darkening  eyes,  —  the  plain  face  with  its  scar,  its 
ruggedness,  its  gloom.  And  the  other  went  out 
of  her  mind  like  a  star  in  the  night. 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  ll 

"  The  voice  !  The  voice  !  "  cried  Beaudes- 
fords. 

"  I  have  none  to-night,"  said  Catherine,  after  a 
little  while,  as  if  she  had  just  understood  what 
he  had  said. 

"  Not  for  this  ?  "  was  spoken  beside  her,  and 
Gaston's  arm,  reaching  forward,  set  a  sheet  of 
music  on  the  rack.  "  You  sang  it  on.  the  night 
that  we  dropped  down  the  river  from  Beaudes- 
fords.  Do  you  remember  ?  " 

"  I  remember,"  said  Catherine.  It  was  the 
.first  sentence,  save  in  brief  greetings,  they  had 
exchanged  since  that  night.  And  for  the  second 
time  the  color  overspread  her  face,  beheld  by 
Beaudesfords.  He  rose  on  one  arm,  and  watched 
her  as  she  sang,  as  her  voice  soared,  —  of  a  sud 
den  inspired  by  bitter  strength,  and  penetrating 
every  heart  with  the  wild  sweetness  of  its  inmost 
tones. 

Sorrow  be  all  my  sport ! 

Since  here  no  breast 
Lends  me  its  own  support 

And  heaven's  rest. 

Sorrow  be  all  my  stay  ! 

For  now  no  arm 
Upholds  me  as  I  sway 

From  storm  to  calm. 


72  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

Sorrow  be  all  my  grace  ! 

No  smile  there  is 
To  overrun  my  face 

When  flung  from  his. 

O  Sorrow !  lift  thy  sword 

Whose  lightnings  shine ! 
Destroy  me  at  a  word ; 

For  I  am  thine  ! 

Beaudesfords  rose  from  the  lounge,  and  began 
to  pace  up  and  down  the  drawing-room.  "  Why 
do  you  sing  such  songs  as  those  ?  "  he  said,  as 
she  still  turned  over  the  music,  and  when  Gaston 
had  strolled  out  to  smoke  his  cigar  on  the  veran 
da.  "  They  are  the  merest  nonsense.  It  must 
have  been  a  love-lorn  lassie  who  implored  after 
that  fashion.  My  wife,"  —  his  voice  always  loved 
to  linger  over  that  word,  — "  sing  to  me 

'  His  very  step  has  music  in't 
As  he  comes  up  the  stair.' " 

And  he  woke  her  in  the  night  to  know  if  that 
silly  song  had  any  meaning  for  her,  if  she  would 
never  find  her  happiness  in  loving  him  truly,  if 
she  had  indeed  rather  die  than  live  his  wife. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,  Beaudesfords," 
said  Catherine,  unconsciously  adopting  the  words 
of  the  wife  of  Auld  Robin  Gray.  "  Do  not  fret 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  73 

yourself  imagining  vain  things.  Are  we  not 
friends.  Do  I  not  bear  your  name?  Be  con 
tent,  dear  Beaudesfords."  She  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  eyes,  and  lest  the  soft  and  seldom  touch 
should  leave  him  he  neither  stirred  nor  spoke  till 
sleep  took  up  the  tale  in  one  long  happy  dream. 


74  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 


YII. 

"  CATHERINE,"  cried  Beaudesfords,  one  wet  after 
noon  a  day  or  two  subsequently,  coming  in  with 
his  thumb  and  finger  between  the  leaves  of  a 
worn  clasp-book,  "  you  must  hear  Gaston's  jour 
nal  :  I  must  read  it  to  you  "  — 

"  Willingly,"  said  Caroline,  with  her  usual 
backwardness. 

"  No,  though :  on  the  whole,"  added  Beaudes 
fords,  "  I  will  have  Gaston  read  it  himself,  while 
your  needles  fly  —  did  I  ever  see  you  sew  before, 
Catherine  ?  "  And  he  looked  at  her  a  moment, 
smiling  with  a  pleased  sense  of  the  domesticity 
of  the  scene  ;  for  Catherine  and  her  mother,  in 
pursuance  of  a  salutary  plan  of  the  former's,  a 
plan  for  clothing  certain  destitute  people  in  the 
neighborhood,  were  engaged,  each  after  her  own 
fashion,  —  Mrs.  Stanhope,  that  is,  earnestly,  as  if 
it  were  a  debt  she  owed  her  own  good  fortune, 
a  pledge  for  her  future  ;  Catherine  dreamily,  like 
one  who  understands  the  idleness  of  trying  to 


THE   THIEF   IN  THE  NIGHT.  75 

cozen  fate,* —  on  the  wicker  of  sewing-work  which 
had  been  brought  down  to  the  southerly  parlor, 
a  room  much  used  at  Beaudesfords  in  the  autumn 
days,  since  all  one  side  of  it  was  a  latticed  win 
dow  opening  on  the  bright  beeches  and  maples 
of  the  lawn,  though  to-day  the  glory  of  the  trees 
was  only  to  be  seen  there  flying  in  gusts  upon 
the  gale  that  tossed  them.  "  I  have  been  poring 
over  it,"  continued  Beaudesfords,  — "  over  what  I 
can  make  out  of  it ;  for  he  writes  a  cursed  short 
hand  of  his  own  invention.  Here,  Cyril,"  as  the 
lad  answered  the  bell,  "  ask  Major  Gaston  if  he  is 
too  busy  to  join  us  in  the  morning-room."  And 
Beaudesfords  planted  the  book  on  the  mantel 
shelf,  and  stood  leaning  over  the  fire  while  he 
turned  the  leaves.  "  About  as  strange  a  record," 
said  he,  "  as  if  it  had  been  kept  in  another  planet. 
To-day  the  guest  of  an  emperor  "  — 

"  Major  Gaston  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Stanhope,  the  idea 
of  the  thing  causing  the  degree  of  the  man's 
consideration  in  the  good  lady's  mind  to  rise  per 
ceptibly. 

"  Bless  your  dear  soul,  of  a  greater  yet !  of 
Christopher  Columbus  himself! " 

"  What  in  the  world  are  you  talking  about, 
Beaudesfords  ?  "  said  Caroline. 


76  THE   THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

"  Wait  a  bit,  —  you  shall  see,'*  answered 
Beaudesfords,  fluttering  the  pages.  "  Here  it  is. 
c  My  interview  with  the  emperor  to-day  was  all  I 
could  desire.  He  received  me  with  only  a  single 
gentleman  in  waiting,  and  entered  at  once  upon 
the  business  in  hand,  examining  my  maps  and 
proposals  with  a  swift  scrutiny  that  showed  an 
amazing  acquaintance  with  the  subject ;  and, 
observing  my  surprise,  he  remarked  that  he  had 
had  time  to  consider  many  things.  I  told  him  I 
was  not  Yespucius  or  Columbus  to  eat  my  bitter 
bread  at  the  gates  of  princes,  but  that,  engaged 
to  survey  in  the  region  for  private  interests  of 
another  nature,  I  saw  opportunity  for  vaster 
things,  and  came  to  him  as  the  only  monarch 
whose  sight  reached  beyond  the  boundary  of  his 
own  kingdom.  "  What  is  good  for  the  world," 
said  he,  "  is  good  for  the  empire,"  while  he  admit 
ted  with  me  that  the  cutting  of  Darien  and  Suez 
would  diminish  the  circumference  of  the  globe 
by  at  least  one  half,  or,  in  other  words,  so  far 
as  human  progress  is  concerned  with  commerce, 
would  double  the  life  of  man.  "  A  proud  ambi 
tion,"  said  he.  "  to  fulfil  the  hope  of  Columbus, 
and  make  the  east  and  west  one,"  and  he  promised 
the  funds  from  his  private  purse  to  carry  out  my 


THE  THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  77 

plans  in  my  own  time,  engaging  only  that  when 
completed  they  should  be  put  in  the  hands  of  his 
capitalists.  "  Certainly,"  said  he,  "whoever  has 
the  canal  that  unites  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific 
has  the  keys  that  were  promised  to  Columbus  in 
his  dream,  the  keys  of  the  gateways  of  the  sea." 
A  great  man,  —  holding  Europe  in  the  hollow  of 
one  hand,  and  reaching  out  the  other  to  grasp  the 
vital  spot  of  the  American  continent,  —  if  in  this 
mighty  age,  when  all  the  floods  are  out  and 
crowns  and  sceptres  are  floating  down  with  the 
raff,  personal  government  can  succeed  at  all,  it 
must  succeed  with  him.'  So  much  for  so  much," 
said  Beaudesfords.  "  Here 's  the  other,  —  listen. 
4  Gracias  d  Bios'  is  far  behind  us.  There  Colum 
bus  gave  thanks  to  God.  For  my  part,  I  give 
thanks  to  my  own  energy.  And  yet  as  I  hear 
the  anchor-chains  rattle  down  where  his  own  did 
once,  and  I  look  out  on  the  low,  palm-fringed 
shore  with  its  purple  mountain-line  beyond,  doubt 
less  much  the  same  now  as  then,  I  confess  that 
the.  other  had  the  better  of  me :  he  worshipped 
an  unknown  power  whose  mere  contemplation 
engendered  vast  ideas  and  led  him  on  towards 
the  "  secret  things  of  the  sea  that  are  bound  with 
such  strong  chains  ; "  and  as  for  me, — well,  I  am 


78  THE  THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

forced  to  remember  what  the  man  wrote  to  the 
Queen,  el  mundo  es  poco.  But  here  I  am  in  his 
domain,  he  makes  me  welcome,  to-morrow  we  go 
ashore,  and  I  begin  my  work,  a  bequest  he  left 
me  perhaps,  —  to  make  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific 
strike  a  balance,  to  bring  the  antipodes  under 
neath  Greenwich  meridian,  to  find  by  land  the 
u  secret  of  the  strait "  for  which  he  sought  by 
sea ;  a  part  of  that  most  immense  of  all  the  testa 
ments  when  under  stress  of  shipwreck  he  willed 
away  a  hemisphere.  Shall  I  link  my  name  with 
great  thoughts,  great  deeds,  great  men,  or  is  it 
all  another  Spanish  castle  in  the  air  ?  ' ' 

"  Gaston  with  castles  in  the  air ! "  exclaimed 
Caroline.  "  Well,  tell  us,  Beaudesfords,  did  he 
doit?" 

"  Oh !  he  made  his  beginning.  He  made  fa 
mous  headway  till  those  little  tempests  in  a  teapot, 
that  they  call  civil  wars  down  there,  rendered  it 
impossible  to  proceed.  But  he  will  be  busy  with 
his  estimates  and  drawings  here  till  the  coast  is 
clear  to  resume  "  — 

u  He  's  a  modest  man,  isn't  he  ?"  said  Caroline. 
"  Offsetting  Columbus  with  himself !  " 

"  Well  —  Gaston  hasn't  much  reverence.  He 
doesn't  believe  in  the  supernatural,  you  know. 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  79 

But  he  believes  tremendously  in  humanity, — 
that 's  what  this  work  means.  And  I  suppose 
it  is  exactly  because  he  so  fully  appreciates  that 
single-minded  old  sailor  that  he  aspires  to  put  the 
best  there  is  in  himself  beside  him,  you  see." 

"  Doesn't  believe  in  the  supernatural  ? "  ex 
claimed  Caroline,  whose  mind  having  received 
one  idea  could  not  immediately  accommodate 
itself  to  another.  "  But  you  do,  Beaudesfords  ? " 

"Oh,  yes !  I  believe  in  every  thing,"  said 
Beaudesfords,  lightly,  still  turning  the  leaves. 
"  Wraiths  and  swarths,  and  the  whole  train  of 
hobgoblins.  It  requires  more  moral  strength 
and  vitality  than  I  possess  to  be  sufficient  to 
yourself  in  the  way  Gaston  is.  I  fancy  I  should 
fall  flat  in  the  dust  sometimes  if  I  did  not  now 
and  then  take  the  tonic  of  a  religious  idea.  Here, 
listen  to  this,  Catherine.  '  Night  before  last  on 
a  shelf  of  rock,  Heaven  only  knows  how  high  in 
heaven,  a  precipice  climbing  behind  me  into  a 
ghostly  sky,  a  precipice  dropping  before  me  into 
the  bottomless  pit  for  aught  I  know,  a  blast  roar 
ing  over  me  On  Mighty  Pens,  a  suffocating  whirl 
of  snow  whose  terrors  embruted  my  guides 
beneath  the  level  of  the  mules,  and  in  which, 
without  fire,  without  food,  cold  as  a  frozen  corpse, 


80  THE  THIEF. IN  THE  NIGHT. 

I  fought  for  breath  till  day  dawned  and  fervent 
heat  made  the  way  clear  for  us  again.  This  noon 
resting  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  in  the  huge 
fissure  of  an  earthquake  whose  walls  a  century  of 
summers  have  been  hanging  with  mossy  curtains 
of  green  lycopods,  draperies  of  blossoms  more 
brilliant  than  the  birds  that  haunt  them,  waving 
heavily  at  the  breath  of  a  mysterious  breeze  blow 
ing  from  nowhere  to  nowhere.  One  sunbeam 
enters  the  place;  far  up  on  the  brink  a  bamboo 
feathers  into  a  fountain  of  light  in  it ;  then  it  falls 
on  a  pool  of  still  water  that  glitters  as  if  it  were 
a  sheet  of  quicksilver  ;  falls  on  tlie  scarlet  wings 
of  a  flamingo  flying  down,  a  living  flame  ;  falls  on 
a  white  ibis  standing  sleepily  in  the  ray  on  the 
pool's  edge  and  shining  like  an  apparition.  In 
the  rent  above  my  head,  the  sky,  a  vast  height 
up,  burns  with  a  violet  tinge  so  deep  and  spark 
ling  that  I  could  swear  the  stars  themselves  were 
burning  there  in  the  midday.  A  fine  cut, — Nature 
may  have  made  it  for  my  purpose.  If  we  could 
but  foresee  the  oscillations  of  the  crust  and  turn 
them  to  our  own  uses,  and  with  another  throe  open 
it  from  sea  to  sea !  Science  is  a  barbarian  yet,  in 
the  age  of  flints ;  by  and  by  will  get  beyond  pottery 
and  the  boiling-point  perhaps,  and  then  possibly  we 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  81 

may  look  to  have  the  vibrations  of  the  sphere's 
surface  reduced  to  a  system,  to  find  out  a  motive 
for  the  capriccio.  The  eternal  years  of  God  are 
hers,  indeed,  as  well  as  Truth's,  —  she  needs  them 
all,  she  will  do  nothing  in  less.  Government, 
too,  is  in  the  same  condition,  —  no  forecast,  no 
preordination :  when  my  ditch  is  dug,  there  is  its 
barbacan,  —  the  long  outlying  fortress,  the  island 
that  is  to  take  tribute  of  the  nations,  commanding 
presently  the  argosies  of  the  Orient  as  they  flock 
by,  gathering  into  free  ports  the  wealth  of  the 
world,  the  richest  thing  itself  on  earth,  —  and  not 
a  hand  reaches  out  to  grasp  jt !  But  the  Queen 
of  the  Antilles  must  belong  to  the  power  that 
holds  the  inter-oceanic  strait ;  or  else,  as  the  centre 
of  the  great  Republic  of  the  Archipelago,  another 
Venice,  rising  in  the  west  as  that  did  in  the  east, 
renewing,  by  one  of  history's  reprisals,  —  the 
swinging  of  the  pendulum,  —  those  maritime 
glories  which  the  older  Venice  lost  when  Vasco 
de  Gama  closed  the  Alexandrian  highway  by  one 
which  must  be  in  time  abandoned  for  this  ecliptic 
of  commerce,  she  herself  will  possess  it!  '  Hm, 
hm,  hm,"  said  Beaudesfords  ;  "  now  he  is  off  on 
his  theories  again :  they  won't  interest  you." 
"But,  my  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Stanhope, 
4* 


82  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

much  as  if  she  had  found  a  scorpion  in  the 
house,  "  this  man  is  a  filibuster o ! " 

"  Gaston  ?  Oh,  no !  He  doesn't  care  the  toss 
of  a  copper  for  our  politics,  doesn't  believe  in 
Manifest  Destiny,  thinks  we  are  as  given  over  to 
stupidity  as  Spain  is  to  sottislmess.  Gaston  has 
the  Napoleonic  bee  in  his  bonnet.  But  you  can't 
think,  Catherine,  how  this  diary  renews  my 
youth  ! " 

"  I  should  think  it  might,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  indeed !  I  see  the  same  sights  over 
again  that  I  saw  when  your  father  took  me  there. 
Your  father  had  some  of  these  same  fancies,  you 
know  "  — 

"  The  same  with  a  difference,"  said  Mrs.  Stan 
hope,  sententiously. 

"  I  remember  one  place  in  particular,"  con 
tinued  Beaudesfords.  "  The  scent  of  that  rose 
in  your  breast  reminds  me  of  it.  I  wonder  if 
Gaston  ever  came  across  any  thing  of  the  sort, 
—  the  merest  trifle, —  entering  one  of  those  dark 
old  cities  after  midnight,  where  the  gates  were  just 
matted  in  a  white  convolvulus  that  flowers  all 
night  long,  and  where  the  streets  were  carpet 
ed  with  scattered  blossoms,  pomegranate-buds, 
orange-flowers,  oleanders,  jasmines,  tuberoses, 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  83 

frangipanis,  that  had  been  strewn  there  by  a 
religious  procession  to  some  shrine,  and  whose 
fragrance  rose  alone  in  the  moonlight  still  like 
incense.  Let  us  see  —  Leon  —  Granada  —  a 
hurricane  that  lost  its  way  and  whipped  the  fish 
dead  in  the  lakes,  and  flocks  of  wild  cockatoos 
into  the  houses,  and  strange  white  unnamed 
beasts  fawning  out  of  the  forest  —  ah,  here  it  is, 
by  all  that  's  good !  The  same  !  Now,  do  you 
know,  Catherine,  just  having  Gaston  see  that 
same  sight  a  dozen  years  after  me,  gives  me 
more  idea  of  the  antiquity  of  those  Spanish 
places,  their  unchanging  age,  —  doing  the  same 
thing  generation  after  generation,  —  than  re 
membrance  of  all  their  three  hundred  years  can 
do!" 

"  It  must  be  very  interesting  to  you,"  said 
Catherine. 

"  I  was  sure  you  would  think  so  !  There,  you 
shall  take  the  book,"  tossing  it  into  her  lap,  "  and 
read  it  to  yourself:  you  will  enjoy  it  so  much 
more  that  way.  You  can  make  out  enough  of 
it ;  and  I  want  you  to  see  him  as  I  do,  for  one  can 
never  have  such  a  chance  again  with  a  man  who 
is  as  silent  as  a  sphinx  !  I  wonder  where  he  is, 
by  the  way.  Not  in  the  house,  did  Cyril  say  ?  " 


84  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

"  There  he  is  now,  coining  round  the  lawn  with 
Rose,"  said  Caroline,  rising  on  one  arm  to  look 
out.  "  How  I  should  like  a  run  in  such  a  rain  as 
this !  But  I  never  shall  have  it —  For  mercy's 
sake,  what  is  Major  Gaston  carrying  in  his  arms  ? " 

"  Ah  ?  Oh  !  a  child,  —  McRoy' s  May,  isn't  it  ? 
Now  that 's  as  it  should  be  !  If  Gaston  had  wife 
and  child"— 

"  He  wouldn't  be  Gaston,"  said  Mrs.  Stanhope, 
breaking  her  thread  with  a  snap. 

"  No  :  I  suppose  not,"  said  Beaudesfords,  half 
sadly.  "  They  would  make  too  much  light  for 
him." 

"  He  ought  to  marry  though,  for  all  that," 
added  Mamma  Stanhope,  not  without  an  anxious 
glance  at  Rose  in  a  juxtaposition  that  was  not 
agreeable  to  her. 

"Of  course,"  answered  Beaudesfords,  strolling 
to  the  window.  "  A  man  is  only  half  a  man  till 
he  completes  himself  by  marriage.  I  told  Gaston 
yesterday  that  McRoy  was  happier  than  he, — 
McRoy,  with  his  clod  of  a  wife  and  sprite  of  a 
child.  She  is  a  rare  child, — don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  that  perhaps  we  might  edu 
cate  her,  Beaudesfords,"  said  Catherine. 

"  Why,  so  have   I,"  said   Beaudesfords,   still 


THE   THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  85 

looking  out  the  window,  though  the  subjects  of 
their  remark  had  disappeared  round  the  corner 
of  the  house. 

"  Here  they  come !  "  cried  Caroline.  "  Wet 
through,  of  course.  Do  tell  us  where  you  picked 
up  Miss  McRoy  ?  " 

"  Major  Gaston  found  her  running  after  a  rain 
bow,"  said  Rose,  glittering  herself  like  her  name 
sake  in  a  shower,  "  and  he  had  snatched  her  up 
under  his  cloak  when  I  met  them.  I  am  not 
wet"  — 

"  Don't  stand  a  moment,  Rose,"  said  Mrs. 
Stanhope,  with  displeasure.  "  I  am  surprised  "  — 

"  Don't  you  fret,  Mamma  Stanhope.  Cyril 
took  my  overshoes  at  the  door,  and  there's  my 
cloak,  and  I  'm  quite  as  dry  as  Dryasdust.  It 
is  the  most  absurd  child,"  as  Catherine  laid  aside 
her  work  and  took  the  little  May  on  her  knee, 
while  Gaston  sat  down  by  the  fire  and  opened 
the  map  for  which  he  had  gone  out,  —  "  the  most 
absurd  child,"  said  Rose.  "  She  was  tired  of 
her  hiding-place  before  we  were  half-way  home, 
and  when  Major  Gaston  said  he  certainly  could 
not  leave  her  on  the  road,  i  Well,'  says  she,  '  I 
suppose  we  must  struggle  on.'  0  you  little  old 
woman!"  cried  Rose:  "will  you  come  and  be  our 
little  girl?" 


86  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

"  May  can't  spare  herself  yet,"  said  the  child, 
archly,  brushing  her  pretty  hair  out  of  her  eyes, — 
hair  like  the  "  thistle-down  tinted  with  gold." 

"  Not  even  to  stay  with  us  and  hear  the  bird  in 
the  piano  sing  all  day  long  ?  " 

But  May's  lip  trembled  lest  the  sport  were 
serious.  "  I  am  my  father's  child,"  said  she 
gravely  then. 

"  That  she  is,"  said  Beaudesfords,  "  the  apple 
of  McRoy's  eye  ! " 

"  His  May  apple,"  said  Catherine,  smoothing 
the  little  locks. 

"  But  I  love  you,"  added  the  child,  as  if  to 
soften  her  dissent;  and  putting  one  arm  round 
Catherine's  neck,  she  kissed  her  cheek,  —  a  cool, 
sweet,  dewy  kiss,  but  Catherine  felt  it  like  a  drop 
of  blistering  wax. 

Beaudesfords  stooped  and  kissed  the  child's 
mouth  after  it,  and  then  caught  her  on  his  arm 
and  began  flourishing  round  the  room  with  her 
aloft,  till,  with  shrieks  of  laughter  and  fear,  her 
little  dimpled  cheeks  were  red  as  peaches,  and 
her  Scotch  blue  eyes  were  bright  as  stars. 

"  Beaudesfords,"  said  Mamma  Stanhope  under 
her  breath,  as  Catherine  gathered  up  her  work, 
and  rose  and  went  upstairs,  "  you  will  make 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  87 

the  child  forget  that  she  is  only  the  gardener's 
daughter." 

"And  so  she  is !  "  exclaimed  Beaudesfords,  as 
he  held  the  door  open  for  Catherine  to  pass 
through.  "  The  same  in  person,  or  will  be  if  she 
lives :  violet  eyes,  and  Hebe  bloom,  and  all  the 
rest  that  Eustace  and  the  poet  went  to  see,  — '  a 
sight  to  make  an  old  man  young ! '  Why  shouldn't 
I  play  with  the  gardener's  daughter?  Mamma 
Stanhope,  you  forget  about  the  grand  old  gar 
dener  and  his  wife !  Oh,  God  bless  the  children ! " 
cried  Beaudesfords.  "  How  they  brighten  the 
world  for  us !  " 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Mrs.  Stanhope.  "  Mine 
have  done  so  for  me.  My  husband  used  to  say 
they  held  us  in  communication  with  the  people 
that  are  dead  and  those  that  are  not  born." 

"  Make  us  ourselves  a  part  of  the  great  per 
fect  race  to  come,"  said  Beaudesfords,  setting 
down  the  child  for  Rose  to  give  her  to  Cyril  to 
take  home. 

"  Well,  Beaudesfords,"  remarked  Caroline,  with 
her  faculty  of  always  saying  the  wrong  thing  at 
the  wrong  time,  —  perhaps,  on  the  assumption  of 
two  negatives  making  an  affirmative,  thinking 
two  wrongs  might  make  a  right,  —  "  if  you  have 


88  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

no  children  to  make  you  laugh,  you  Ve  none  to 
make  you  cry." 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  I  had !  "  cried  Beaudesfords, 
hotly  and  forgetfully. 

"  To  make  you  cry !  " 

"  Ah,  sister  mine,"  for  Beaudesfords'  sunshine 
gilded  even  Caroline,  "  love  is  our  salvation,  you 
know ;  and  the  love  of  children  is  a  perpetual 
breaking  of  sacramental  bread !  " 

"  There  is  the  dressing-bell,"  said  Mrs.  Stan 
hope,  who  considered  such  conversation  very 
unprofitable.  "  You  will  be  late  for  dinner, 
Caroline." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Gaston,  looking  up  from 
where  he  sat  toasting  his  feet  at  the  blaze,  "  I 
passed  Ruthven  on  the  road.  He  is  coming  up 
here  presently." 

"  He  will  stay  to  dinner,  then,"  said  Beaudes 
fords.  "  So  have  your  symptoms  ready,  Miss 
Stanhope.  I  can't  say  I  'm  glad  you  're  not  well, 
my  dear  ;  but  we  shouldn't  have  half  so  much  of 
Ruthven  if  you  were  !  " 

"  Thank  you  for  nothing,"  said  Caroline,  as 
her  maid  came  for  her  cushions,  and  the  ladies 
left  the  room. 

"  Ruthven  loves  his  rubber,"  said  Gaston;  "  and 


THE   THIEF   IN  THE  NIGHT.  89 

a  partner  like  your  good  mother-in-law  is  after 
his  own  heart.  What  is  this,  Beaudesfords  ? " 
folding  his  map,  and  then  bending  to  pick  up  the 
old  morocco  case  of  his  journal  from  the  hearth: 

"  So  you  have  found  me  out  ?  "  answered  Beau 
desfords,  mischievously.  "  I  gave  the  book  to 
Catherine.  She  and  I  are  one,  you  remember. 
You  haven't  a  word  to  say !  " 

Was  it  the  blaze  that  burned  so  on  Gaston's 
dark  cheek  as  the  room  darkened  ?  or  was  it  the 
reflection  that  from  that  day  Catherine  must  be 
coupling  the  thought  of  him  with  lofty  ideas, 
heroic  enterprises ;  with  tropical  magnificence, 
with  the  music  of  the  great  South  Sea  singing 
over  the  siren-caves  that  he  had  told  of  there, 
with  the  antique  Aztec  cities  he  had  explored, 
with  the  traces  of  those  mighty  men  who  swam 
on  bladders  down  the  falls  and  foam  of  mountain 
rivers  to  the  sack  of  Spanish  cities;  the  colors 
of  Caribbean  waters,  the  landscapes  lighted  by 
volcanic  fires,  —  must  couple  him  with  all  the 
dark,  rich  mystery  of  such  adventurous  travel,  till 
something  of  the  atmosphere  of  its  scenes  and 
sights  were  made  over  to  him,  and  he  towered 
transfigured  in  half  their  grandiose  splendor  ? 

No:  Gaston  thought  of  nothing  of  the  kind. 


90  THE  THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

He  only  thought  that  at  that  moment  Catherine 
was  spelling  out  the  record  he  had  written, — 
Catherine,  to  whose  eyes  words  to  which  Beau- 
desfords  was  blind  would  stand  in  letters  of 
light. 

And  as  for  Catherine,  when  locked  in  her 
room  she  hung  above  the  book,  it  seemed  to  her 
that  the  dark  side  of  the  moon  had  turned  its 
hidden  things  toward  her. 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  91 


VIII. 

THERE  was  only  a  day  or  two  of  this  sort  of  life, — 
life  that  in  its  close  domestic  contact  must  not 
last;  and  then — nobody  knew  who  first  proposed 
it  —  the  house  filled  with  guests ;  and  all  the 
autumn  days  the  gentlemen  shot  upon  the  mead 
ows  and  between  the  hills,  and  the  ladies  beamed 
and  brightened  at  nightfall  when  they  returned. 
Gaston,  for  the  present  superintending  the  erec 
tion  of  some  great  water-works  in  the  vicinity, 
came  and  went  at  his  pleasure,  now  here,  now 
there.  If,  when  the  shooting  was  over,  Beau- 
desfords  had  ever  enhanced  his  own  value,  ever 
made  a  gap  in  the  circle,  by  any  such  brief 
absence ! 

If  the  house  was  full  of  guests,  it  appeared  to 
be  full  of  happiness  too.  Mrs.  Stanhope  was 
happy  in  receiving  guests  ;  Rose  was  happy  as  a 
firefly  might  be  supposed  to  be  ;  Caroline  —  since 
there  was  always  some  one  to  listen  while  she 


92  THE   THIEF   IN  THE  NIGHT. 

expatiated  on  her  complaints ;  Beaudesfords  was 
happy  in  giving  happiness  to  all  the  rest;  and 
Gaston,  even  Gaston,  looked  as  one  looks  who  is 
happy, — yesterday  he  touched  her  hand,  to-day  he 
wrapped  a  shawl  about  her,  to-morrow  he  would 
lift  her  into  the  saddle.  And  Catherine  too,  the 
general  tide  bathed  her,  the  tide  was  rising  round 
her  that  soon  should  touch  her  lips. 

It  was  not,  after  all,  an  easy  course  that  Cath 
erine  had  to  follow :  indignation  in  remembering 
how  lightly  she  had  once  been  thrown  over  ;  the 
ashes  of  an  old  fire  rekindling  day  by  day ;  the 
quiet  affection  and  respect  for  Beaudesfords  pull 
ing  her  heart  toward  him  with  pity,  honor,  and 
the  duty  that  a  woman  owes  her  husband,  —  each 
a  strong  current  of  feeling ;  and  when  all  were  to 
be  blended  into  one  stream  of  right  action  and 
pure  emotion,  it  required  a  self-knowledge  and 
self-control  that  do  not  often  enter  into  the  ele 
ments  of  any  single  character.  Gaston,  who 
sometimes  read  one's  thoughts,  you  would  almost 
say,  watched  her  across  all  the  phases  of  his  own 
experience, — watched  her  too  as  a  curious  study, 
nearly  sure  she  would  succeed,  and  then  half 
trembling  with  his  certainty,  if  it  could  be  said 
that  Gaston  ever  trembled. 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE  NIGHT.  93 

There  had  been  a  great  snowfall  at  Christmas 
time.  All  the  guests  were  imprisoned  at  Beau- 
desfords  whether  they  would  or  no.  When  day- 
dawned,  the  world  was  a  white,  pure  thing,  as 
fair  and  dazzling  as  it  might  be  on  the  resurrec 
tion  morning. 

But  on  the  previous  night  the  storm  had 
whirled  round  the  great  house  and  rumbled  the 
length  of  the  chimney-stacks,  snapped  off  the 
boughs  of  the  old  Beaudesfords  oaks,  and  roared 
abroad  in  a  way  to  make  a  stout  heart  quake  ; 
had  there  been  any  bells  to  ring  in  the  Christ 
mas  eve  at  Beaudesfords,  they  would  have  been 
silenced  in  all  the  voices  of  the  winds  that  swept 
at  large  in  fury.  But  within  doors  it  had  been 
one  glow  of  brightness  and  warmth  ;  fires  had 
blazed,  lights  had  beamed,  mistletoe  and  holly 
lent  their  cheer,  the  windows  shed  out  their  lustre 
on  the  driving  whiteness  of  the  tempest  till  all 
the  snow-flakes  round  them  seemed  but  sparks 
of  fire ;  gay  games  had  been  given  to  the  younger 
company ;  music  and  dancing,  and  verses  dram 
atized  on  the  moment,  beguiled  the  elder.  Cath 
erine,  too,  moved  round  among  the  guests  in  a 
warm,  womanly  way  that  was  new  to  her :  there 
was  a  bloom  upon  her  cheeks,  a  softer  light  in  her 


94  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

eyes,  —  so  gentle,  so  smiling,  so  dreamy,  she  was 
like  those  we  read  of  in  the  medieval  lays,  whose 
lives  some  sweet  yet  poisonous  enchantment  holds 
in  thrall. 

"  Where  is  Gaston?  "  suddenly  asked  Beaudes- 
fords  of  Rose,  as  he  met  her  in  a  doorway  with 
her  arms  full  of  fantastic  finery  for  the  charaders. 

"  Oh !  we  shan't  see  Gaston-  till  to-morrow 
night,"  she  lightly  answered.  "  He  told  me  yes 
terday  he  feared  he  should  be  detained  at  the 
water- works,  and  would  not  return  till  Christmas 
night." 

"  Christmas  eve,  you  mean.  You  misunder 
stood  him,  Rose  of  Cashmere :  he  told  me 
Christmas  eve.  He  should  have  been  here  two 
hours  ago.  I  wonder  if  he  has  been  so  foolish  as 
to  undertake  coming  on  foot  from  the  station." 

"  He  is  a  perfect  tramp,"  said  Rose. 

"  Perhaps  —  Have  you  heard  the  engine 
whistle  ?  " 

"  No  whistle  but  the  winds  to-night,"  gathering 
up  the  trailing  ends  of  a  bit  of  silver  damask. 

"  It  can't  be  that  he  has  —  He  always  chooses 
the  short  cut,  and  that  leads  over  the  little  bridge 
that  it  takes  all  one's  head  .to  cross  in  clear 
weather." 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  95 

"  The  old  willow  that  lies  from  bank  to  bank 
you  mean  ? "  asked  Rose,  looking  back.  "  He 
would  never  think  of  it !  It  makes  me  so  giddy 
in  summer,  when  the  brook  is  half  dry ;  and 
now  it  is  a  roaring  little  icy  cataract,  and  the 
snow  gathered  on  either  side  would  mislead 
every  step.  No,  indeed !  Gaston  won't  come  till 
the  great  banquet  on  to-morrow  night  is  spread : 
he  likes  to  keep  people  waiting  too.  So  summon 
all  your  fortitude,  and  live  without  him  until  then, 
if  you  can! "  And  she  flitted  away. 

They  had  spoken  at  the  entrance  of  the  con 
servatory,  as  they  passed  each  other  there,  Rose 
laden  with  a  pile  of  brocades  rummaged  from 
forgotten  wardrobes  of  the  old  Beaudesfords 
ladies.  Catherine  was  just  within,  directing 
McRoy  as  he  bound  the  wreaths  and  baskets 
for  those  who  were  to  interpret  that  fragment  of 
the  old  ballad  — 

"  Weep  no  more,  lady, 

Your  sorrow  is  in  vain ; 
For  violets  pluckt  the  sweetest  showers 
Will  ne'er  make  grow  again ! " 

She  turned  her  head  unthinkingly,  and  only  to 
hear  their  voices ;  then  her  hands  grew  cold  as 


96  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

she  listened,  so  cold  and  numb  that  the  flowers 
dropped  from  them  unheeded,  violets,  purple, 
white,  deepest  black  and  goldenest  yellow,  in  a 
rain  of  fragrance  on  the  floor. 

"  He  will  get  bewildered  in  all  the  dizzy  tu 
mult  ! "  she  heard  Beaudesfords  exclaim  in  a 
smothered  voice.  "  He  could  not  breathe  an  hour 
in  it !  I  urging  his  return  to-night !  Quick 
there,  Frye !  Have  out  every  man  on  the  place  — 
ropes  and  lanterns  !  "  — 

He  was  hurrying,  swift-footed,  ere  he  finished, 
to  reach  the  hall,  down  whose  length  he  has 
tened  and  threw  open  the  great  door.  A  wild 
white  gust  out  of  the  fearful  storm  blew  in,  and 
tore  onward,  devouring  the  lights  before  it ;  but 
not  till  Beaudesfords  had  seen  as  wild  and  white 
a  face  across  his  shoulder,  looking  out  with  him 
into  the  raging  night. 

The  music,  the  laughter,  the  voices  of  the 
clusters  within  the  parlors,  came  on  snatches, 
from  far  away.  "  Gaston ! "  he  cried.  "  For 
God's  sake  —  Gaston !  "  At  the  same  moment  a 
shadow  took  shape  in  that  awful  whiteness  before 
him,  —  the  awful  whiteness  of  a  midnight  snow 
storm  which  has  neither  darkness  nor  light,  — 
and  Gaston  staggered  up,  fell  again  across  the 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  97 

doorstone,  like  an  avalanche  of  snow;  rose 
half  on  the  arm  of  Beaudesfords,  half  on  the 
relief  of  finding  an  end  to  his  fierce  and  toilsome 
endeavor,  while  Beaudesfords  dragged  him  across, 
and  with  all  his  force  threw  the  door  hack  upon 
the  windy  drifts,  shutting  themselves  in  once 
more  with  light  and  rest ;  then  drawing  him 
down  the  hall  to  his  own  den  like  a  whirlwind  of 
force  and  fury  himself,  while  Catherine  moved 
back  into  the  parlors,  —  but  not  till  Gaston  too, 
half  dead  with  weariness  as  he  was,  had  seen  the 
wild  white  face  that  searched  the  storm  for  him. 

"  I  thought  I  had  lost  you  this  time,  Gaston !  " 
exclaimed  Beaudesfords,  as  soon  as  he  had  made 
the  other  swallow  some  champagne.  "  My  God  ! 
I  suffocated  with  you  !  How  black  the  world 
grew  to  me  of  a  sudden !  Life  would  not  be 
worth  a  rush  without  you,  I  found,  in  that  second 
before  you  rose.  You  and  Catherine  are  my  life  !  " 

Pale  as  Major  Gaston's  face  was  with  fatigue, 
it  grew  livid  with  Beaudesfords'  words.  He  had 
not  one  murmur  to  reply.  He  closed  his  eyes 
till  the  black  lashes  lay  on  the  cheek  below  like 
that  of  a  corpse.  His  heart  stood  still,  his  head 
fell  forward  and  drooped  upon  his  breast,  as  if  he 
were  ashamed  that  even  the  universal  air  should 
6 


US  THE   THIEF   IN  THE   NIGHT. 

see  his  face.  He  put  away  Beaudesfords'  arm, 
and  rose  from  his  seat  himself. 

"  So,  you  don't  give  me  the  slip  after  all  ?  " 
cried  Beaudesfords.  "  A  moment  since  I 
wouldn't  have  given  that  for  your  chances ! " 
snapping  his  fingers  gayly.  "  By  Jove  !  you  've 
not  nine  lives,  but  ninety." 

"  I  've  not  crossed  a  hundred  canons  to  founder 
between  here  and  the  mill.  Train  snowed  up," 
he  added,  in  a  different  tone. 

"  And  you  walked  the  five  miles  ?  I  will  call 
Frye,  and  you  shall  go  to  bed  at  once,  and  be 
rubbed^  down  like  a  racer ! "  said  Beaudesfords. 
"  Some  more  champagne !  How  could  you  do 
such  a  silly  thing !  To-morrow  a  fever  may 
finish  you !  Have  you  the  strength  of  a  Titan  to 
heave  yourself  through  these  hills  of  snow  ?  " 

"  Do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Gaston.  "  I 
shall  be  well  enough  when  I  get  my  breath." 

"  And  drenched,  of  course." 

"  That  is  soon  remedied.  Then  a  breath,  I 
say,  and  I  '11  not "  — 

"  Call  the  king  your  uncle  ?  "  Beaudesfords 
stood  before  him,  putting  a  hand  on  either  shoul 
der,  and  looking  him  in  the  face  with  those  glad 
and  honest  eyes  of  his.  "  But  I  thank  God  I 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  99 

have  you  safe  !  "  he  said.  Then  sounded  a  truce 
to  all  emotion  of  that  nature  by  ringing  lustily 
for  Frye ;  and  in  an  hour  Gaston  was  sitting  at 
one  side  of  the  drawing-room  fire,  renovated  as 
to  his  apparel,  but  pallid  with  his  fatigue. 

"  Will  you  give  Gaston  some  hot  tea,  Cathe 
rine  ? "  asked  Beaudesfords. 

"  Cyril  shall,"  beckoning  the  passing  servant 
with  the  tray. 

"  No ;  but  take  it  to  him  yourself.  It  is  only 
a  slight  condescension.  When  a  man  is  ill  and 
tired,  and  has  no  real  home  of  his  own,  such 
things  touch." 

"Perhaps,  then,  Mamma  had  best:  she  is 
dispensing  it." 

"  Nonsense,  bonnibel !  we  are  making  a  great 
affair  out  of  nothing !  Show  my  friend  another 
spark  of  interest  yourself." 

Catherine  took  a  cup  that  had  just  been  filled, 
and  carried  it  across  the  room. 

"  You  must  drink  this,"  she  said  softly,  looking 
not  at  Gaston,  but  at  the  cup. 

"  Thank  you,  no."  He  remembered  Beaudes 
fords,  and  his  love,  like  that  of  a  woman's.  He 
had  been  thinking  he  would  leave  the  place. 
He  would  have  nothing  at  her  hands. 


100  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

"  But  you  must,  he  says.  It  will  perhaps  hin 
der  a  fever :  you  were  so  cold  and  wet.  Or  else, 
indeed,  you  may  die." 

With  her  voice,  that  shook  ever  so  slightly, 
addressing  him,  her  hand  extended  toward  him, 
her  face  drooping  above  him,  so  gentle,  so  lovely, 
so  near,  —  her  sweet  breath  touching  his  fore 
head, —  with  the  mad  quickening  of  his  pulse, 
shame,  remorse,  Beaudesfords,  honor,  were  flung 
off,  he  held  his  hand  half-way  for  the  cup  as 
he  rose  and  stood  before  her,  the  fire  behind 
throwing  out  all  his  profile  in  a  black  relief. 

"  And  if  I  do  ?  "  said  he.  "Is  there  any  thing 
better  than  dying?  If  the  cup  holds  life, — 
shall  I  drink  it  ?  " 

She  trembled  an  instant  as  he  spoke,  with  his 
eyes  bent  upon  her :  then  she  had  left  the  cup  in 
his  hands,  and  was  gone ;  and  Gaston  drained  it  at 
a  breath.  A  simple  thing ;  but  Beaudesfords,  fol 
lowing  her  with  his  glance  to  observe  the  graceful 
action,  saw  into  what  earnest  pantomime  it 
turned,  and  wondered  as  he  saw. 

Old  Dr.  Ruthven  strolled  down  that  end  of  the 
room  where  Gaston  sat  alone.  "  My  friend," 
said  he,  "  you  must  have  some  hell-fire  in  you 
since  all  that  snow  and  ice  outside  has  not  chilled 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  101 

it ! "     And   Gaston,   replying   as   curtly,   strode 
away  to  his  western  wing. 

That  night,  when  Catherine  dismissed  her 
maid,  she  pulled  away  her  curtains  and  looked 
out  with  her  brow  bent  upon  the  cold  glass. 
She  seemed  herself  to  be  resting  in  a  state  of 
well-being  :  within  it  was  all  so  warm  and  rosy  ; 
but  without  a  white  frenzy  of  storm  was  rushing 
by  the  pane,  scourging  it  with  sleet,  mounting  in 
mighty  gyres,  and  driving  up  a  black  immensity 
of  the  midnight  vault.  War  of  wind  and  cloud, 
darkness  of  desolation,  the  great  cry  of  the  ele 
ments  sweeping  overhead  through  the  gaping 
gulfs  of  space.  Of  a  sudden  Catherine  cowered, 
—  a  mere  atom  she  ;  then  her  sense  of  insignifi 
cance,  under  all  these  prodigious  forces  of  sky 
and  storm,  opened  out  into  a  sense  of  sin  and 
tumult  as  vast  as  they, —  bloom  and  warmth 
dropped  from  her,  she  shivered  away  to  her  pil 
low,  and  wept  there  half  the  night  long. 


102  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 


IX. 


A  FEVERISH  dream  in  the  gray  of  the  morning ; 
and  then  the  day  broke,  the  clear  and  crystalline 
day,  with  calm  and  peace  on  all  the  outer  earth, 
with  cheer  and  good-will  at  all  its  hearths.  Joy 
ous  salutations  floated  to  Catherine  before  she 
left  her  rooms :  daylight,  that  shuts  the  world 
in  upon  itself  and  robs  it  of  all  large  outlook 
into  heaven,  shut  Catherine  in  as  well  upon  the 
moment  that  was  passing. 

"  No  church  to-day !  "  cried  Rose.  "  The 
Beaudesfords  teams  are  going  out  to  break  the 
roads,  —  the  heavy  drags.  And  Beaudesfords 
says  we  may  all  go  with  them.  Such  sport!" 

"  All  but  me,"  moaned  Caroline,  who  had  en 
tered  her  appearance  at  an  earlier  hour  than 
usual  that  morning,  roused  by  the  gay  stir  and 
bustle  of  the  house. 

"  No,  indeed,  Caroline !  I  shall  not  go,"  said 
Catherine. 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  103 

While  she  spoke,  she  saw  the  train  of  horses, 
shaking  off  the  music  of  their  peals  of  bells, 
the  great  dray-horses  for  which  the  Beaudesfords 
place  was  famous,  trampling  past  the  window, 
with  the  sledges  that  they  drew  well  heaped  with 
rugs  and  skins.  Beaudesfords  had  taken  the 
reins  from  the  teamsters  ;  and  Gaston,  looming  in 
the  light,  rode  the  leader,  —  a  wild  and  powerful 
creature,  little  accustomed  to  harness  or  to  bridle. 

"  No,  no,  Catherine  !  "  cried  Beaudesfords,  as 
she  followed  the  others  to  the  door,  with  an  end 
of  her  breakfast-scarf  thrown  across  her  hair. 
"  I  cannot  trust  you  on  such  a  break-neck  expe 
dition!  It  is  one  of  Rose's  freaks,  —  Rose  and 
Gaston's.  She  would  chill  to  death :  would  she 
not,  Gaston  ?  " 

"  Cold  withers  japonicas,"  said  Gaston,  but 
without  looking  up,  while  he  curbed  his  prancing 
beast. 

"  I  did  not  think  of  it,  dear  Beaudesfords,"  she 
answered. 

Beaudesfords,  standing  aside  while  his  guests 
were  crowding  on  the  teams,  flung  his  reins  loose 
one  moment,  sprang  up  the  steps,  and,  as  if  gently 
forcing  her  within,  seized  both  her  hands  and 
kissed  them,  and  flew  down  again.  She  felt  the 


104  THE   THIEF   IN   THE  NIGHT. 

pressure  on  those  hands  long  after  all  the  mad 
caps  were  out  of  sight. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  see  the  use  of  your  staying 
at  home  with  me,"  exclaimed  Caroline,  "  if  you're 
going  to  roam  the  house  in  this  way,  like  an 
unquiet  spirit." 

"  Shall  I  read  to  you,  Caroline  dear  ?  "  her 
sister  asked. 

"  As  if  Susette  couldn't  read  to  me  !  No :  I 
want  you  to  sit  still  and  talk.  I  want  to  know 
what  you  think  about  Rose  and  Gaston.  How  he 
follows  her  with  his  eyes  !  Mamma  says  it 's  a 
sick  whimsey.  Do  you  think  it  is,  Catherine  ? 
Beaudesfords  has  always  promised  Rose  a  hand 
some  portion ;  so  they  can  afford  it.  I  like  it. 
Though  of  course  that 's  no  matter  !  I  like  Major 
Gaston :  he  's  one  of  the  Satanic  sort,  —  run 
you  through,  and  make  nothing  of  it ;  the  Festus 
lovers,  though,  that  Rose  says  do  not  cut  up  into 
good  husbands.  I  wonder  nobody  ever  thinks  of 
my  marrying." 

Caroline  was  complaining  to  the  empty  air. 
Catherine  had  moved  away  from  her  as  a  ship 
sails,  —  moved  down  the  long  suite  from  the 
breakfast-room,  and  out,  and  away. 

"  Well,  I  declare,"  groaned  Caroline,  lying  on 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT.  105 

Catherine's  sofa,  eating  Catherine's  dainties,  and 
sipping  Catherine's  coffee,  "  Catherine  takes  no 
more  interest  in  her  family  than  if  such  people 
didn't  exist  on  the  face  of  the  earth !  " 

Rose  and  Gaston !  Rose  and  Gaston !  Beau- 
desfords  had  spoken  of  them  ;  so  Caroline  had. 
Rose  and  Gaston  !  Catherine  kept  repeating  the 
phrase  as  a  bell  tolls  on  the  wind.  The  thought 
of  its  association  bewildered  her.  She  held  her 
head  in  both  hands  as  she  went  up  and  down 
her  own  room.  What  was  the  pomp  of  that 
place  to  her  now  ?  She  never  noticed  it,  —  the 
place  for  which  Beaudesfords  had  ransacked 
Europe,  —  its  satin  flutings  and  Venice  lace,  its 
paintings  on  sheets  of  gold  and  blocks  of  lapis- 
lazuli,  its  vase  that  some  Etrurian  woman  had 
heaped  with  flowers  three  thousand  years  ago,  its 
tiny  water-clock  that  had  measured  the  hours  once 
for  some  Roman  woman  perhaps  as  wretched  as 
herself:  she  neither  saw  nor  remembered  any  of 
it.  One  thought  only  ruled  her,  —  a  tent  in  the 
desert  would  have  answered  just  as  well  to  think 
that  thought  in.  If  only  Gaston  loved  another 
woman,  how  much  more  easily  she  might  tread  the 
path  before  her.  But  she  knew  better !  she  knew 
better.  And  Gaston  had  no  right  to  Rose, — 

5* 


106  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.      . 

too  ignoble,  too  unworthy:  if  he  were  a  good 
man,  he  would  not  now  be  here.  He  never  should 
possess  her  !  Then  came  over  her  the  quick  doubt 
lest  she  deceived  herself  by  a  mere  sophism,  and 
were  simply  barring  him  about  from  escape,  fearful 
of  Rose  or  any  other  woman. 

As  still  she  paced  the  place,  when  some  hours 
had  elapsed,  there  came  the  rush  of  the  sledges 
and  their  bells,  the  trampling  of  the  great  dray- 
horses,  the  chorus  of  gleeful  voices.  Catherine 
fell  on  her  knees  behind  the  window-curtain  and 
looked  out.  She  had  all  at  once  grown  guilty 
enough  to  need  the  shelter  of  those  clinging  folds. 
It  was  Gaston  only  at  whom  she  gazed,  —  Gas- 
ton,  whose  restive  horse  plunged  and  swerved 
and  reared  in  his  long  loose  traces,  while  the 
rider  seemed  a  part  of  him,  and  pulled  him  up 
till,  poised  in  the  air  and  outlined  upon  the 
dazzling  snow,  both  horse  and  rider  might  have 
been  hewn  from  black  marble.  Her  eyes  grew 
to  him,  and  gazed  and  gazed.  What  was  the 
force  of  this  man  ?  What  made  it  ?  Where 
lurked  it  ?  Not  beauty,  for  Beaudesfords  had 
that ;  not  goodness,  for  Beaudesfords'  life  was  a 
sacrifice  to  others.  His  identity  —  himself — 
only  himself —  Gaston!  She  forgot  the  conceal- 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  107 

ment  of  the  curtain,  bending  forward,  following 
him.  He  looked  up,  and  for  one  moment,  bold 
and  steady,  caught  and  kept  those  wild  and  eager 
eyes.  Then  she  sank  upon  the  floor,  and,  her 
face  hidden  in  her  loosened  hair,  grovelled  out 
of  sight. 

What  time  had  passed,  impossible  to  say.  She 
stirred  at  the  sound  of  Beaudesfords'  foot  and 
voice,  as  he  approached  in  search  of  her.  He 
was  singing  the  hymn  that  they  had  heard  in 
church  not  many  days  before,  —  absently  forget 
ting  it  was  no  festival  song.  He  had  a  full,  rich 
tenor  voice,  that  at  other  times  it  was  a  pleasure 
to  hear  echoing  through  those  long  and  lofty  halls 
in  its  clear,  golden  strains ;  but  now  each  note 
pierced  her  ears  like  a  stab :  — 

"  For  me  these  pangs  his  soul  assail, 

For  me  this  death  is  borne ; 
My  sins  gave  sharpness  to  the  nail, 
And  pointed  every  thorn. 

"Let  sin  no  more  my  soul  enslave; 

Break,  Lord,  its  tyrant  chain ; 
Oh !  save  me,  whom  thou  cam'st  to  save, 
Nor  bleed,  nor  die,  in  vain." 

He  sauntered  through  the  gallery,  looking  at 
the  handsome,  honest  faces  of  the  old  Beaudes- 


108  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

fords  portraits  that  lined  the  wall,  repeating  and 
dwelling  on  the  last  verse,  unmindful  what  it  was. 
But  as  for  Catherine,  listening  to  him,  she  arose ; 
and  it  was  like  a  human  being  transformed  to 
some  vile  shape  of  elf  or  newt  that  the  advance 
of  morning  touches  with  a  sunbeam  and  sets  free. 
She  seemed  to  grow  a  loftier  stature  as  she  stood. 
"  I  am  not  vile  ! "  she  cried.  "  I  will  not  live 
in  this  bondage  to  sin.  I  will  blot  out  this  man 

—  this  Gaston.     I  will  conquer,  or  I  will  die  ! " 
As  Beaudesfords  entered,  and  she  faced  him, 

shaking  out  all  her  fallen  locks  of  palest  gold, 
her  cheeks  vivid,  her  eyes  flashing,  she  looked 

—  more  than  she  had  ever  looked  before  —  like 
the  spirit  of  some  great  rose  full-blossomed  in  the 
noon.     He  stood  still,  almost  transfixed  with  the 
sight  of  her  beauty,  that  Blazed  so  upon  him. 
And,  while  he  gazed,  the  voluptuous  color  faded, 
and  left  the  cheeks  white,  and  only  the  eyes  shone 
out,  so  full  of  purpose  and  endeavor  that  they 
were  like  the  stars  of  heaven.     And,  while  he 
gazed,  he  thought  he  heard  her  murmur  again 
those  words,  —  unconscious  that  she  spoke,  — 

"  I  will  conquer,  or  I  will  die  !  " 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  109 


X. 


CATHERINE  had  Olympe  in  to  arrange  her  fallen 
hair,  and  then  followed  Beaudesfords  below.  He 
ran  lightly  down  the  stairs,  like  a  boy,  glancing 
back  and  calling  her  to  hasten ;  while  she  lin 
gered,  leaning  over  the  baluster,  and  looking,  in 
her  ermined  wrapper  and  with  the  set  bloom 
upon  her  face,  as  if  she  had  just  stepped  forth 
from  one  of  the  old  carved  frames  that  lined  the 
walls,  —  the  last  lady  of  Beaudesfords.  Gaston 
turned  silently  as  she  came  in,  and  thrilled,  per 
haps,  to  think  that  all  that  unwonted  color  and 
fire  had  kindled  in  the  long  look  they  inter 
changed  a  half-hour  since. 

Catherine  surveyed  the  joyous  faces  that  clus 
tered  round  the  luncheon-tables,  she  listened  to  the 
quips  and  cranks,  and  wondered  what  cross-pur 
pose  of  fate  it  was  that  had  overtaken  her,  and 
wrought  her  life,  which  should  have  been  as 
smooth  as  theirs,  into  such  a  tangled  snarl.  A  kind 


110  THE  THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT. 

of  fever  burned  within  her,  and  gave  her  a  parched, 
dry,  and  dusty  feeling :  she  was  like  one  perishing 
of  thirst  in  the  desert,  with  all  manner  of  illusive 
mirages  of  palm-plumed  water-springs  in  sight,  — 
for  her  heart  ached  for  love,  and  there  was  Beau- 
desfords',  and  it  was  nothing  to  her.  Who  could 
help  her?  Rose,  to  be  sure,  pretty,  laughing 
Rose.  But  she  had  never  dreamed  of  her  sister's 
trouble :  why  darken  her  innocent  sunshine  with 
such  shadows  ?  There  was '  her  mother.  Un 
fortunately  Mrs.  Stanhope  was  more  foreign  to 
all  the  needs  of  Catherine's  nature  than  if  she 
spoke  another  language ;  she  would  neither  sym 
pathize,  nor  understand,  nor  overpower ;  she 
would  be  but  indignantly  scandalized,  —  which 
was  only  to  her  credit,  she  would  have  said, 
had  matters  been  explained  to  her.  And  as  fgr 
Caroline,  that  young  woman  in  the  whole  course 
of  her  life  had  never  been  of  any  more  use  to  any 
body  than  a  rag  baby.  And  then,  as  her  rapid 
thoughts  ran  on,  while  she  shrank  more  silently 
within  herself  than  ever,  feeling  like  a  guilty 
wretch  among  all  these  sinless  people,  —  if  any 
such  there  are,  —  her  eye  lighted  on  Dr. 
Ruthven. 

Who  has  not  had  a  family  physician  whose 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  Ill 

touch  was  healing ;  whose  words  were  balm ; 
whose  kind,  keen  eye  searched  many  a  disease  to 
its  seat  in  the  soul ;  whose  smile  was  comfort ; 
whose  knowledge,  though  it  compassed  the  world 
and  filled  you  with  awe,  was  yet  lost  in  his  gen 
tleness  ;  to  whom  one  turned  as  to  the  dispenser 
of  life  and  death ;  to  whom  one  told  those  bur 
dens  of  sorrbw  no  father-confessor  ever  heard ; 
who  was  a  staff  to  strengthen,  an  arm  to  uphold, 
a  god  to  give  health  ?  Dr.  Euthven  was  not 
different  from  his  order,  —  a  kind,  brave,  sagacious 
gentleman.  He  had  made  his  round  of  calls  that 
morning  after  the  drags  had  broken  out  the  roads, 
and  had  been  peremptorily  brought  back  to  Beau- 
desfords  by  its  master.  Catherine  looked  at  him, 
and  a  course  of  action  or  of  physic  rose  before 
her  mind.  She  never  dreamed  of  the  time  when 
another  might  go  to  him  as  she  to-day  intended. 
A  quick  suggestion  flashed  upon  her,  —  of  how 
many  subtle,  gentle,  viewless  poisons  he  must 
know,  that  would  so  soon  medicine  her  to  that 
sleep  unvisited  by  dreams  of  sin  and  struggle. 
She  crossed  to  his  side  and  sat  down,  meaning  to 
lead  him  to  speak  of  such  secrets  of  his  art.  But 
then  came  the  thought  that  this  trial  was  a  tiling 
of  her  destiny,  after  all :  if  she  contrived  to  escape 


112  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

it  in  this  life,  in  the  next  it  might  be  all  to  endure 
over  again ;  and  since  already  she  had  suffered 
the  half  of  it  here,  why  seek  to  renew  the  whole 
there  ?  And  so  —  restrained  by  no  other  scru 
ples,  for  Catherine,  it  is  unnecessary  to  say,  was 
not  yet  a  religious  woman,  she  had  found  no 
rock  to  cling  upon  when  washed  by  overwhelm 
ing  seas  —  she  said  nothing  at  all. 

Perhaps  the  Doctor  was  pleased  with  the  lit 
tle  compliment  of  her  singling  him  from  among 
all  these  gayer  guests:  he  was  playing  with  his 
dry  wine  and  biscuit,  and  put  them  away  as  she 
sat  down  between  him  and  the  fire  ;  for  there  was 
nothing  set  about  luncheon  at  Beaudesfords, — 
except  the  viands,  —  and  people  did  just  as  they 
chose.  He  stretched  out  his  artful  hand  and 
took  her  wrist. 

"Physician's  privilege,"  he  said.  "What  is 
the  meaning  of  all  the  red  roses  ? 

'  'Twould  be  no  stranger  sight  to  see 
Red  roses  blooming  in  the  snow.' 

A  little  fever  ?  "  continued  the  Doctor.  "I  have 
noticed  in  the  way  of  my  practice  that  in  sum 
mer  all  diseases  are  inflammatory,  as  you  may 
say  ;  in  winter  they  all  partake  of  a  typhoid 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  113 

character.  My  dear,  there  is  nothing  typhoid  in 
this  pulse." 

"  Why  should  there  be,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  Your  pulse  is  always  a  slow  one,  some 
what  heavy,  different  from  that  beating  wire 
which  springs  like  a  repeater  in  Gaston's  wrist, 
—  ah!  ah!  ah  !"  cried  the  Doctor  suddenly,  but 
half  under  his  breath. 

Catherine  snatched  her  hand  away,  angry  and 
injured. 

"  Have  I  sprung  a  trap  upon  your  confidence  ?  " 
said  the  unabashed  old  Doctor,  looking  over  his 
glasses.  "  My  dear,  we  probe  some  things  to 
relieve  them." 

It  was  just  at  that  moment,  as  Gaston  had 
sauntered  to  the  other  side  of.  the  fender  and 
stood  looking  down  at  the  two,  with  their  drama 
of  one  moment's  span,  that  Beaudesfords  —  who 
had  taken  up  an  open  book  of  ballads  which 
some  one  had  brought  from  the  library,  and 
laid,  face  down,  upon  the  table  —  strolled  in  be 
tween  them,  and  took  up  his  position  on  the 
rug,  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  glancing  through 
the  volume. 

"  The  sweetest  verse  in  the  world,"  he  said. 
"  Catherine,  it  always  puts  me  so  in  mind  of 


114  THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

you,"  turning  toward  her,  for  the  four  were 
quite  by  themselves  on  that  side  of  the  room. 
"Do  you  remember  it ? 

1  Once  I  kissed  Sir  Cradocke 
Beneath  the  greenwood  tree, 
Once  I  kissed  Sir  Cradocke's  mouth 
Before  he  married  me/  — 

only  it  was  not  you,  but  I ! " 

If  Dr.  Ruthven  had  held  her  pulse  then,  what 
a  leap  he  would  have  had  to  cry  out  at !  The 
picture  of  that  star-lit  night,  with  Gaston's  face 
bending  toward  her  own  beneath  the  swing 
ing  tree-shadows,  started  so  vividly  before  her 
eyes  that  it  seemed  to  dazzle  her  to  tears  :  she 
felt  the  tears  springing  up  full  and  hot ;  and, 
holding  them  back  till  they  almost  scalded  her 
brain,  she  bit  her  lip  in  a  sudden  desperation,  and 
then  the  blood  gushed  out  in  a  spirt. 

At  the  sight,  Gastori  sprung  to  seize  her  with 
a  single  impulse.  Beaudesfords  dashed  down  his 
book.  But  Dr.  Ruthven  had  been  before  them 
both,  had  caught  her  handkerchief  and  pressed 
it  to  her  mouth  as  if  the  danger  were  from  some 
thing  more  than  a  bitten  lip,  had  pulled  her  to 
her  feet,  and  pushed  and  helped  her  through  the 
door,  and  had  her  in  her  own  room,  with  Olympe 


THE  THIEF   IN  THE   NIGHT.  115 

running  this  way,  and  Rose  that,  and  Mrs.  Stan 
hope  the  other,  ere  either  of  the  two  had  entirely 
recovered  his  senses. 

"  Only  a  hemorrhage,"  said  the  old  deceiver, 
reappearing  after  a  few  seconds  for  his  prescrip 
tion-book,  •  which  had  fallen  from  his  pocket. 
"  Only  a  brief  hemorrhage.  This  extreme  cold 
produces  a  slight  congestion.  Frequent  occur 
rence.  No  danger, —  no  danger  with  proper 
care,  that  is.  Must  be  kept  perfectly  still.  No 
company.  Her  own  room.  Beaudesfords,  can 
you  send  for  this  at  once  ? "  And  he  handed 
him  the  cabalistic  scrawl  which  means  so  much, 
but  which  in  this  case  meant  but  a  mild  con 
coction  of  harmless  trifles. 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  said  Gaston,  hoarse  and 
quick. 

"No,  indeed,  Major  Gaston,"  replied  the  Doc 
tor,  blandly.  "  We  do  not  trouble  our  guests 
with  such  errands." 

Gaston  drew  back  at  once,  as  the  sky  blenches 
before  a  light :  he  saw  in  that  sudden  light  the 
nature  of  the  attack  as  plainly  as  Dr.  Ruthven 
did.  Alarm,  as  those  lips  reddened,  had,  for  the 
first  moment,  blotted  ballad  and  Beaudesfords 
and  every  thing  else  from  mind. 


116  THE  THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

Beaudesfords  was  throwing  the  saddle  over  his 
swiftest  horse  himself,  as  Gaston  sauntered  back 
again  to  the  frightened  groups  that  were  gathered 
in  questioning  and  answering  about  the  event,  and 
then,  still  as  leisurely  and  unconcerned,  sauntered 
away  to  his  quarters  in  the  western  wing. 

"  Hurry  !  Hurry  !  "  cried  Beaudesfords  to  his 
apothecary,  as  he  handed  him  the  prescription,  a 
half-hour  later. 

"  I  should  not  suppose  there  was  occasion  for 
any  particular  despatch,"  said  the  compounder 
of  simples,  measuring  out  his  drops  with  pre 
cision.  "  If  any  one  lies  at  the  point  of  death, 
a  little  red  lavender,  ammonia,  and  camphor- 
water  will  hardly  bring  him  back." 

Beaudesfords  took  the  vial,  and,  vaulting  into 
his  saddle,  was  half-way  home  before  the  words 
recurred  to  him.  But  they  did  recur,  —  idly  and 
passingly,  —  yet  sufficiently  to  show  that,  though 
he  took  no  notice  of  them  just  now  and  they 
had  no  peculiar  significance  for  the  moment,  they 
were  pictured  upon  his  memory  for  that  future 
period  which  should  make  them,  and  a  hundred 
other  things  of  their  kind,  start  out  in  a  fiery 
charactery. 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  117 


XI. 


MAJOR  Gaston's  door  having  closed  upon  him 
did  not  open  for  himself  again  on  that  day  or  the 
next.  The  storm  had  prevented  further  advance 
with  the  great  water-works  which  had  employed 
him ;  his  servant  brought  him  the  black  coffee  on 
which  at  that  time  he  principally  subsisted ;  Mrs. 
Stanhope  had  a  tiny  French  dinner  faultlessly 
served  for  him  alone  each  day,  and  regretted  that 
he  was  too  ill  to  enjoy  it ;  she  had  feared  he  was 
overworking  himself,  she  said.  She  paid  him  a 
visit ;  but  the  smoke-permeated  atmosphere,  the 
fearful  confusion  of  the  apartments,  the  tacitur 
nity  of  the  yellow  Major,  were  combining  influ 
ences  which  caused  the  visit  to  be  a  short  one, 
and  she  felt  herself  excused  from  repeating  it,  by 
sending  the  French  dinner  and  the  Doctor  every 
day  in  her  stead. 

"  Hm  —  ahem  !  "  uttered  the  sturdy  Doctor,  not 
to  be  daunted  by  all  the  Majors  in  existence.    "  It 


118  THE  THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

is  plain  that  the  air  of  Beaudesfords  does  not 
agree  with  you  —  does  not  agree  with  you.  And 
the  sooner  you  leave  it  the  better." 

"  I  am  not  ill,"  said  the  Major.  "  I  wish  you 
and  Mr.  Beaudesfords  would  attend  to  your  own 
affairs.  When  I  want  a  physician,  I  order 
one." 

"  Perhaps  the  physician  wants  you." 
"  Well,"  turning  on  him  suddenly,  "  what  does 
he  want  of  me  ?  " 

"  Possibly  to  quit  the  place.  Possibly  such  a 
great  healthy  fellow  hulking  round  is  an  eyesore, 
—  eh  ?  Possibly,  Gaston,  possibly  he  takes  a  gen 
uine  interest  in  your  health,  which  is  not,  after 
all,  such  alarming  health, — you  yellow  fellow — 
need  sea-air,  —  and  is  sincere  in  advising  you  to 
leave  Beaudesfords." 

"  Do  you  advise  Mrs.  Beaudesfords  to  leave  it 
too  ?  or  did  you  say  Mm  ?  "  with  a  sneer  worthy 
of  the  father  of  sneers. 

"  That  is  not  your  affair.  However,  I  fear  I 
may  have  to  order  her  a  warmer  climate." 

"  We  might  all  go  together  then.  A  charming 
party,  Doctor !  "  As  Gaston  stood  before  the  fire 
in  the  room  that  was  growing  dark,  a  strange 
glow  came  into  his  eyes,  and  illumined  his  bitter 


THE  THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  119 

smile.  He  looked  more  like  a  thing  of  evil  than 
he  was. 

"  Let  me  have  your  pulse,  sir/'  said  Dr.  Ruth 
ven,  possessing  himself  of  it  after  the  fashion 
of  medical  men,  before  the  patient  knew  how  to 
resist,  and  opening  out  his  watch  that  had  beat  out 
so  many  of  its  seconds  over  men's  hearts.  "  Ner 
vous  system  highly  wrought,"  muttered  Dr. 
Ruthven.  "  Bromide  of  potassium  —  dessert 
spoonful  every  three  hours.  Nothing  like  it  — 
mere  magic.  Now  your  tongue." 

Gaston  waited,  before  complying  with  this  last 
demand,  which  was  apparently  too  humiliating  to 
be  borne,  till  the  Doctor  had  replaced  his  time 
piece  ;  then  he  took  him  by  the  shoulder  and 
reseated  him  in  his  chair,  so  quietly  but  so 
potently  that  there  was  no  appeal. 

"  Now,  sir ! "  said  he,  "  I  told  you  I  was 
not  ill.  I  keep  my  quarters,  being  absolute 
master  of  them,  thanks  to  —  not  to  you,  Dr. 
Ruthven !  " 

"No,  sir!  Not  by  the  holy  poker,  sir!  Not 
to  me,  you  may  take  your  affidavit !  " 

"  Life  is  not  all  play,  even  to  me,  Dr.  Ruth 
ven,"  continued  Gaston,  without  noticing  the 
little  man's  outburst.  "  I  draw  my  plans,  clear 


120  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

up  my  details.  The  guests  survive  without  me. 
I  choose  to  be  alone  just  now,  sir,  because  I  am 
working  out  a  problem  !  Good-morning !  " 

"  Good-evening  !  "  said  the  Doctor.  "  Don't 
confuse  the  hours  of  the  day,  whatever  you  do. 
I  hope  you  will  not  forget  the  most  important 
quantity  in  your  problem  —  one  which  people 
laboring  under  high  nervous  excitement  are  apt 
to  overlook.  I,  think  you  had  better  try  the  bro 
mide,  though.  Good-night ! " 

Then  Gaston  filled  his  huge  pipe,  and  when 
Beaudesfords  came  in,  he  could  by  no  means 
have  discovered  the  whereabouts  of  his  friend, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  spark  of  fire  glittering  at 
the  mouth  of  the  big  bowl,  and  looking  as  much 
like  the  single  eye  of  some  monster  glowering 
through  the  darkness  as  any  thing  that  could 
be  imagined. 

"  Tartarus  ?  "  said  he.  "  Or  the  Black  Hole  ? 
Ruthven  said  you  were  at  work  on  your  prob 
lems  :  you  must  be  extracting  the  root  of  all 
darkness.  Why  haven't  you  rung  for  lights  ?  " 

"  Let  me  alone,  Beaudesfords.  I  love  the 
dark." 

".Because  your  deeds  are  evil?  Well  —  land 
at  last  —  a  glimmer  in  the  grate,  that  is;  an- 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  121 

chored  —  that 's  a  chair.  Now,  what  did  Ruth- 
ven  think  of  you  ?  " 

"  Thought  I  had  better  go  away  from  Beau 
desfords." 

"  Go  away !  "  cried  Beaudesfords,  starting  to 
his  feet.  "  What !  is  the  air  unhealthy  here  ?  Is 
it  that  ails  Catherine  ? " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  He  spoke  merely  in  relation 
to  myself.  Life  is  too  pleasant  for  me  here.  It 
is  time  I  was  up  and  away  on  my  rounds,  like 
the  outcast  Jew." 

"  Fie,  fie,  old  fellow !  Don't  put  on  your 
misanthropes.  Ruthven  is  only  a  good,  pottering 
soul  —  fancies  you  rusting  out.  You  never  shall 
leave  Beaudesfords  with  my  consent.  See,  we 
are  going  to  have  a  railway  laid  to  the  bay  now. 
The  straight  line,  you  know,  lies  across  as  many 
pretty  difficulties  as  anybody  wants  to  overcome 
in  a  summer's  day.  When  the  water- works  are 
opened  and  done  with,  you  will  have  your  con 
tract  to  lay  it  out.  What  say  to  that  ?  "Head 
quarters  at  Beaudesfords,  and  a  year's  job  if  a 
day's.  Some  of  our  directors  were  here  to  see 
me  this  morning  about  it.  No  danger  for  you  of 
rusting,  even  at  Beaudesfords.  It  is  I  who  should 
rust  without  you.  In  fact,  Gaston,  though  I 


122  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

wonder  what  existence  would  be  to  me  without 
Catherine,  I  wonder  quite  as  often  what  it  would 
be  to  me  without  you !  I  couldn't  say  it,"  added 
Beaudesfords,  like  a  girl,  "  if  it  wasn't  as  dark 
as  your  pocket !  " 

Poor  Beaudesfords !  He  could  not  have  said  it 
at  all,  had  Catherine  ever  given  him  the  bliss  of 
being  loved  in  return  with  the  decimal  of  that 
devotion  which  he  lavished  on  herself.  But  he 
was  an  effusive  nature,  and,  having  broken  the  ice 
on  the  night  of  the  great  snow-storm  by  a  tanta 
mount  assurance,  it  was  necessary  for  him  to 
attest  the  fact  again,  and  yet  again,  lest  it  were 
only  deemed  the  impulse  of  a  moment. 

But  as  for  Gaston,  he  answered  not  a  word. 
And  the  two  sat  there  silent  in  the  darkness ; 
Beaudesfords  a  little  despondent  about  his  wife, 
but  not  positively  unhappy,  turning  over  a  thou 
sand  things  in  his  mind  ;  but  Gaston,  chafing 
with  hateful  thoughts,  finding  it  impossible  to 
speak,  and  yet  every  instant  of  the  prolonged 
silence  getting  more  unbearable  than  the  last. 
Suddenly  he  was  upon  his  feet,  had  snatched  both 
of  Beaudesfords'  hands  and  wrung  them,  crying, 
"  What  should  such  fellows  as  I  do,  crawling  be 
tween  earth  and  heaven ! "  had  pushed  him  back 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  123 

again,  found  his  own  hat,  and  stalked  from  the 
room. 

"  That  was  just  like  Gaston ! "  said  Beaudes- 
fords  to  Catherine,  when  he  was  detailing  to  her 
the  conversation  and  its  close,  on  the  same  even 
ing,  alone  with  her  in  her  own  sitting-room. 
"  To  sit  mulling  over  my  words,  when  I  had  for 
gotten  all  about  them,  and  suddenly  to  burst  out 
in  such  a  blaze !  What  a  soul  he  is !  Noble 
from  heart  to  lip !  One  of  those  men  that  wear 
the  purple,  —  that  were  born  in  it,  —  porphyro- 
gene !  When  was  there  ever  such  a  man  before  ? 
It  is  no  wonder  that  I  love  him,  Catherine !  You 
are  not  jealous  of  him,  eh  ? "  with  a  smiling  side 
long  glance. 

"  Jealous  of  Gaston ! " 

"  Ah !  true.  How  is  it  possible  ?  I  think  you 
are  better  to-night,  Mrs.  Beaudesfords,"  gazing  at 
her  again  a  moment  as  he  spoke.  "  There  is  such 
a  color  on  your  cheeks,  such  a  light  in  your  eyes, 
that  I  have  half  the  mind  to  bring  him  up  here 
to  tea." 

Catherine  looked  at  herself  in  the  great  glass 
as  he  spoke  :  it  was  an  image  but  little  like  a  sick 
woman's  that  she  saw  there,  with  that  triumphant 
flush  and  brilliance  which  had  risen  as  she  had 


124  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

heard  Gaston  praised,  as  she  had  felt  that  he  was 
not  altogether  vicious,  —  a  short-lived  rapture  on 
such  false  foundation.  If  he  were  not  vicious, 
why  did  he  linger  here  ? 

"  You  seem  so  much  improved  indeed,"  con 
tinued  Beaudesfords. 

"  No,  no,  no ! "  cried  Catherine,  hastily.  "  I 
mean  the  Doctor  said,"  she  added,  "  that  I  must 
see  no  one,  —  that "  — 

"  He  was  right,"  interrupted  Beaudesfords.  "  I 
am  an  idiot.  Happiness  makes  a  man  lose  his 
senses,  they  say ;  and  since  I  see  you  look  so  well, 
I  feel  like  snapping  my  fingers  at  fate." 

"  Do  not  talk  so,  Beaudesfords,"  said  Catherine. 
"  Read  to  me.  There  are  the  new  books  that 
came  to-night.  I  had  them  brought  on  purpose, 
because  you  like  to  open  them  so,  and  I  like  to 
see  you."  And  Beaudesfords,  cutting  the  leaves 
of  one  at  random,  plunged  into  poetry  of  such 
bewildering  waste  of  passion  and  power,  such 
mad  melody  and  rhythm,  that,  seeing  Cathe 
rine  fall  asleep,  worn  out  with  all  the  emotions 
that  had  their  battle-ground  every  day  in  her 
heart,  he  stole  softly  from  the  room,  and  then 
took  the  great  staircase  at  three  leaps,  with  the 
book  in  hand,  that  he  might  break  in  upon  Gas- 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT.  125 

ton's  quarters,  and  waking  him  from  his  black 
apathy  revel  there  with  Swinburne,  in  a  sym 
posium  of  splendid  image  and  luxurious  music 
till  midnight. 


126  THE   THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 


XII. 

THE  winter  days  went  slipping  by,  and  Beaudes- 
fords  still  kept  the  place  filled  with  guests,  and 
Catherine  still  kept  her  room.  Beaudesfords 
would  have  recalled  his  invitations  and  dismissed 
his  friends,  but  Catherine  would  not  listen  to  it : 
she  had  double  reason  indeed  to  wish  his  house 
and  his  hands  full,  just  now,  that  he  might  be 
diverted  from  too  close  attention  on  her  retire 
ment.  One  would  have  thought  that,  having 
tried  that  experiment  of  seclusion  in  the  early 
days  of  her  return  home,  its  failure  would  have 
answered.  But  she  had  no  option  about  it ;  for 
Dr.  Ruthven,  though  small  in  body,  was  the 
greatest  tyrant  that  ever  ruled.  She  was  not 
obliged  to  complain  of  any  symptoms,  —  Dr.  Ruth 
ven  did  that  for  her :  he  made  her  walk  up  and 
down  in  the  open  air  on  her  high  balcony,  that 
commanded  such  a  wide  outlook  of  country ;  took 
care  that  her  diet  was  all  as  it  should  be  ;  and  by 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  127 

degrees,  when  he  had  seen  that  her  room  was 
darkened  rightly,  all  hi  an  unostentatious  way, 
and  as  a  physician  is  wont  to  do,  he  invited  up 
one  guest  and  another  to  wile  away  an  hour,  to 
let  her  know  the  gossip  below ;  while  Beaudes- 
fords  had  a  company  of  musicians  brought  from 
a  distant  city,  that,  stationed  in  the  hall,  made 
delicious  murmuring  of  violin  and  flute,  not  for 
Catherine  alone,  but  for  every  one  that  chose  to 
listen.  Gaston  threw  open  his  doors  sometimes, 
and  suffered  the  spell  of  music  to  work,  if  per 
chance  it  might  cast  out  his  devils  ;  but  it  needed 
a  mightier  magician  even  than  music  to  effect  so 
much  as  that. 

Gaston,  meanwhile,  had  shut  himself  up  dur 
ing  these  three  weeks  in  his  own  apartments  as 
well :  it  seemed  possible  that  he  intended  to  re 
turn  only  when  Catherine  herself  returned ;  and 
as  Caroline  and  Mamma  Stanhope  plied  her  with 
the  details  of  all  transactions  below,  so  at  least 
Catherine  interpreted  it.  He  did  not  choose  to  be 
eluded  by  any  such  evasion  as  her  mock  illness : 
he  meant  to  force  her  back  by  staying  away  him 
self  till  she  came.  It  seemed  to  Catherine  cruel, 
even  then,  cruel  on  Gaston's  part,  to  stand  so 
between  her  and  safety,  —  safety,  which  meant 


128  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

virtue,  peace,  heaven.  Dr.  Ruthven  did  not  need 
much  feigning  in  his  meddlesome  and  benevolent 
device ;  for  the  conflict  of  feeling  left  Catherine 
every  day  more  pale  and  worn,  every  night  more 
feverish  and  impatient. 

She  was  just  stepping  in  one  evening  from  the 
balcony,  that  opened  from  her  sitting-room  and 
extended  far  enough  down  one  side  of  the  house, 
blank  just  there  of  windows,  to  allow  her  a  sort 
of  promenade,  and  Olympe  had  removed  her 
wrappings  and  carried  them  away,  when  Beaudes- 
fords  tapped  upon  the  door,  peered  in,  and  then 
put  his  head  and  hand  back  in  the  hall,  and  drew 
in  Gaston  after  him. 

"  She  doesn't  look  like  a  martyr  to  disease, 
does  she,  Gaston,  with  such  a  rose-petal  of  a 
cheek  ?  Dr.  Ruthven  is  a  tyrant.  Death  to  all 
tyrants,  say  I !  I  shall  have  you  downstairs  to 
morrow,  my  lady.  Good  heavens,  how  cold 
your  hands  are  !  " 

"  I  have  just  come  in  from  the  balcony,"  said 
Catherine,  losing  the  color  the  wind  had  fanned 
up  on  her  cheek.  But  she  did  not  tell  him  that 
when  she  came  in  her  hands  were  warm  and  well. 

Tea  was  served  for  the  three  ;  and  Rose  flitted 
in  and  made  them  four.  Catherine  leaned  back 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  129 

in  her  chair,  growing  whiter  and  whiter,  and, 
while  Rose  and  Beaudesfords  fenced  out  their  gay 
dialogue,  gave  no  response  of  word  or  smile. 

It  seemed  to  her  as  if  fate  were  fighting  against 
her,  —  as  if  she  felt  the  game  go  on  between  good 
angels  and  bad,  herself  the  stake  ;  %nd  when  she 
glanced  up,  and  Gaston  stood  before  her  and  bent 
from  his  height  and  said  some  gentle  thing  in  a 
tone  whose  tenderness  was  all  the  more  enhanced 
because  that  tone  was  usually  so  haughty  and  so 
brief,  she  shuddered  to  think  she  saw  the  dark 
angel  in  person,  to  think  how  he  possessed  her ; 
and  then  she  thrilled  and  thrilled  to  look  at  him, 
all  her  soul  seemed  welling  up  into  her  eyes,  she 
could  not  move  them  from  their  fascinated  gaze, 
her  hands  trembled  and  her  lips,  her  head  fell  on 
one  side,  and  she  would  have  swooned  had  not 
Gaston  himself  caught  her,  and  had  not  the  knowl 
edge  of  his  touch  acted  like  an  electric  stroke  to 
call  her  back  to  herself,  to  this  strange  being  of 
hers,  half-filled  with  such  wild  joy  as  she  looked  at 
him,  half  with  as  wild  abhorrence  of  herself,  and 
bathed,  besides,  all  through  and  through  with 
pity  for  Beaudesfords,  and  sorrow.  She  used  to 
think  she  was  insane,  that  some  evil  spirit  acted 
through  her,  since  she  found  it  so  impossible  to 

G* 


130  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

reconcile  her  conscience  and  reason  with  this 
passion  of  her  senses  and  her  heart,  to  understand 
why  in  herself  alone  the  flesh  and  the  spirit  so 
contended.  She  ought  to  scorn  him,  she  said, 
since  he  betrayed  her ;  she  ought  to  hate  him 
that  he  lingered  here  to  torment  her;  and  in 
stead  —  but  she  would  not  utter  to  herself  that 
pitiful  instead.  Only  she  had  not  the  strength  to 
forbid  Beaudesfords  to  bring  Gaston  any  more 
to  the  room,  to  keep  her  eyes  off  him  with  their 
greedy  gaze  when  he  was  there.  Only  all  the 
time  she  hated  bitterly  those  honest,  happy  Beau 
desfords  women  on  the  wall !  It  was  a  kind  of 
rapt  and  trance-like  happiness  while  he  remained : 
after  he  was  gone,  came  the  misery  and  shame. 
Once  it  occurred  to  her  to  ask  herself  what  had 
become  of  her  resolve  of  that  bright  Christmas 
morning,  the  resolve  that  she  would  conquer  or 
she  would  die.  Well,  she  answered,  she  could 
not  conquer,  but  perhaps  she  could  die  !  Heaven 
help  her  and  let  her  die  ! 

Gaston  came  now  with  Beaudesfords  every 
evening.  Dr.  Ruthven  knew  nothing  about  it. 
He  sat  opposite  Catherine,  the  little  tea-table 
between  them :  he  waited  on  her  in  a  dozen 
trivial  ways,  and  the  blind  Beaudesfords  felt 


THE   THIEF   IN  THE   NIGHT.  131 

nothing  but  delight  in  believing  that  the  friendship 
between  his  friend  and  his  wife  was  springing  up 
so  sweet  and  strong.  Every  night  Gaston  brought 
some  large  and  lovely  flower,  freshly  full-blown, 
from  the  green-house,  and  gave  it  to  her:  their 
hands  touched  as  they  gave  and  took,  loitered 
perhaps  one  trembling  moment ;  and  while  she  held 
it  and  gazed  down  upon  it  and  caressed  its  petals, 
it  half  seemed  to  her  that  it  still  was  Gaston's 
hand  she  held.  She  was  weak  and  pale,  tender 
and  appealing:  a  man's  heart  would  have  been 
stone  which  in  some  way  in  those  days  she  did 
not  touch.  And  yet  she  could  hardly  hold  herself 
to  be  like  any  polluted  thing ;  for  Gaston's  very 
tenderness  was  so  lofty ;  he  never  used  word  or 
expression  beyond  that  silent  manner,  in  appear 
ance  so  full  of  deep  respect ;  yet,  for  all  that, 
she  knew  the  truth,. —  his  tone  told  it,  his  de 
laying  eyes  enforced  it.  In  fact,  she  was  ceasing 
already  to  make  any  effort,  fancying  herself 
controlled  by  some  fatal  charm,  questioning  if  she 
should  not  take  what  bliss  she  found,  shutting 
her  eyes  and  glad  to  be  drifting  —  drifting. 


132  THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT. 


XIII. 

CATHERINE  had  kept  her  own  rooms  for  about  five 
weeks,  —  for  sometimes  she  lacked  the  inclination 
and  sometimes  the  courage  to  go  down,  nor  had 
Dr..  Ruthven,  still  maintaining  his  fiction,  yet 
given  his  consent  that  she  should  do  so,  —  when 
Candlemas  came  —  came  to  break  the  back  of  the 
winter,  as  some  one  said.  The  January  thaw  had 
just  passed  over  all  the  white  world,  and  the 
snow-covered  expanse  of  the  long  lawn  and  level 
field  beneath  her  windows  had  been  washed  with 
the  rain,  and  flooded  and  frozen  in  an  icy  glare. 
Beaudesfords  and  Gaston  sat  round  the  little  tea- 
table  with  Catherine,  having  left  Mrs.  Stanhope 
and  Rose  with  enough  upon  their  hands  below. 
There  came  a  rap  upon  the  lower  door,  and  May, 
the  gardener's  little  daughter,  entered  timidly  and 
presented  Mrs.  Beaudesfords  with  an  offering  from 
her  father,  —  a  single  scarlet  blossom,  the  offshoot 
of  a  rare  plant  that  the  gardener  had  been  secretly 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  133 

fostering  and  urging  for  a  surprise ;  since  Mrs. 
Beaudesfords  in  her  floral  fury,  as  her  husband 
used  to  call  it,  had  often  worked  with  McRoy  in 
the  conservatory,  and  had  established  with  him 
a  pleasanter  acquaintance  than  with  her  other 
servants. 

She  took  the  fiery  flower,  and  set  it  in  a  glass 
before  her,  where  it  seemed  to  throw  a  lustre 
round  the  table,  while  Beaudesfords  detained  May 
with  a  shower  of  little  silver  pieces,  and  set  her 
to  singing  her  particular  gypsy  ballad  which  was 
always  such  a  delight  to  him  for  its  oblivion  of 
the  laws  of  prosody  and  ballad-making  in  general, 
and  which  the  child  sang  with  such  an  abandon 
ment  to  the  tune  and  want  of  understanding  of 
the  burden  that  the  effect  reached  that  one  step 
from  the  sublime.  Beaudesfords  and  Gaston, 
leaning  back  in  their  chairs,  laughed  a  choral 
accompaniment,  which,  however,  in  nowise  dis 
concerted  the  little  girl,  who,  with  her  eyes 
fastened  on  the  scarlet  flower,  still  sang  on 
unconcerned,  —  an  old  ballad,  once  perhaps  in  the 
Scottish  manner,  but  which,  in  its  passage  through 
the  memory  of  May's  grandmothers  and  great- 
grandmothers,  had  lost  much  of  its  rhyme  and 
nearly  all  its  reason. 


134  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

"  There  were  seven  gypsies  in  a  gang, 

They  were  both  brisk  and  bonny,  O  ; 
They,  came  to  the  Earl  of  Castle's  house, 
And  the  songs  they  sang  were  many,  O. 

Earl  Castle's  wife  came  down  the  stair, 
And  all  her  maids  before  her,  O  ; 

As  soon  as  they  saw  her  well-fared  face, 
They  cast  the  glamor  o'er  her,  O. 

They  gave  to  her  a  nutmeg  brown, 

And  also  of  the  ginger,  O  ; 
She  gave  to  them  a  better  thing, 

The  ring  from  off  her  finger,  O. 

The  Earl  would  hunt  in  Maybole  woods, 
For  blithesome  was  the  morning,  O, 

Following  the  deer  with  the  yelping  curs, 
And  the  huntsman's  bugle  sounding,  O. 

Earl  Castle's  wife  came  down  the  hall 
To  have  a  crack  at  them  fairly,  O  ; 

'  And  oh  ! '  she  cried,  '  I  will  follow  thee 
To  the  end  of  the  world,  or  nearly,  O ! 

'  So  take  away  my  silken  gown, 
And  bring  a  highland  plaidie,  0; 

Though  kith  and  kin  and  all  had  sworn, 
I  '11  go  with  my  gypsy  laddie,  O  ! ' 

When  our  good  lord  came  riding  home 
And  spiered  for  his  fair  lady,  O, 

The  tane  she  cried,  and  tither  replied, 
'  She's  away  with  the  gypsy  laddie,  O !' 

'  Oh,  saddle  me  my  milk-white  mare 
Because  she  goes  so  speedy,  O  ! 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  135 

I  '11  ride  all  day,  and  I  '11  ride  all  night, 
To  overtake  my  lady,  O  ! 

'  How  could  she  leave  her  children  three, 

How  could  she  leave  her  baby,  O, 
To  follow  under  the  greenwood  tree 

Along  with  a  gypsy  laddie,  0  ! ' 

He  rode  beside  the  river's  bank, 

With  its  waters  black  and  dreary,  O ; 

When  he  espied  his  wedded  wife,  — 
She  was  cold  and  wet  and  weary,  O. 

And  we  were  fifteen  well-made  men, 

Although  we  were  not  bonny,  0  ; 
And  we  were  all  put  down  but  one 

For  a  fair  young  wanton  lady,  O  !•" 

All  this  poured  forth  to  a  charming  tune,  and 
with  a  voice  like  a  bird's.  Gaston  and  Beaudes- 
fords  saw  only  subject  for  merriment  in  song  and 
singer.  But  Catherine  leaned  back,  all  hurt  and 
humbled,  while  she  sang,  as  if  the  hand  of  inno 
cence  had  touched  her  guilt. 

It  was  just  at  that  moment  that  a  thousand 
lights  seemed  suddenly  to  strike  up  the  ceiling 
and  drown  the  soft  radiance  of  the  shaded  lamp 
in  a  myriad  dancing  flashes ;  and  before  Cath 
erine  knew  what  had  happened,  Beaudesfords  had 
wrapped  her  great  fur  mantle  close  about  her  and 
had  thrown  open  the  casement,  and  she  was  lean- 


136  THE  THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

ing  over  the  balcony's  edge  with  May  beside  her, 
and  was  gazing  down  where  all  the  lawn  and 
level  field  were  alive  with  twinkling  sparks,  ruby 
and  emerald,  azure  and  golden,  that,  borne  by 
almost  viewless  shadows,  circled  and  recircled 
and  wove  a  tracery  of  brilliant  flourishes  till  the 
whole  field  was  brocaded  with  trailing  lines  of 
light.  It  was  Candlemas  ;  and  Beaudesfords  was 
keeping  it  in  this  fantastic  way,  having  marshalled 
guests,  tenants,  and  servants  into  his  use  for  the 
pretty  spectacle. 

"  How  lively,  how  beautiful,  how  silent ! "  cried 
Catherine. 

"  It  is  the  '  dance  of  the  daedal  stars,' "  said 
Gaston. 

"It  is  the  Feast  of  the  Purification  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,"  said  little  May,  using  the  phrase 
she  had  caught  from  a  servant's  lips. 

As  Catherine  heard  the  simple  words  last 
spoken,  she  shivered  despite  herself.  How  re 
mote  from  her  were  beauty  and  purity,  the  festi 
vals  of  holy  people,  the  worship  of  holy  women ! 
All  at  once  she  was  forlorn  as  some  lost  soul 
might  be  when  gazing  from  the  outside  of  a 
star  upon  the  world  of  happy  people  moving 
there. 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  137 

"  You  are  cold  ?  "  exclaimed  Gaston,  and  he 
readied  his  arm  across  to  gather  about  her  the 
heavy  cloak  that  had  slipped  down  where  its  rich 
fur  was  unconsciously  trampled  by  May's  clumsy 
little  feet.  He  gave  it  a  sudden  wrench  to  set  it 
free,  without  thinking  what  he  did :  the  child, 
leaning  half  over  the  low  railing  in  her  eagerness, 
lost  her  balance,  pitched  forward,  and  throwing 
up  her  hands  with  a  sharp  scream  plunged  head 
long  down  upon  the  ice  below,  that  glittered 
harder  and  colder  than  a  rock. 

As  Catherine  sprung  forward  to  snatch  at  her, 
and  snatch  in  vain,  she  was  caught  back  herself 
with  a  smothered  word ;  and  for  an  instant  her 
forehead  felt  the  fierce  pulsation  of  Gaston' s  heart 
as  it  rocked  beneath,  while  he  too  bent  to  learn 
the  fate  of  the  thing  that  lay  in  a  little  quiet  heap 
below,  and  to  which  Beaudesfords,  springing 
across  the  rail  and  swinging  himself  down,  had 
dropped  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell. 

But  as  soon  as  Catherine  had  comprehended 
the  thing,  —  it  was  but  a  half-dozen  seconds  first, 
—  she  broke  from  that  restraining  grasp,  and 
sweeping  through  her  room  like  the  wind,  was 
down  the  stairs,  and  out  upon  the  ice  with  Beau 
desfords,  and  in  again,  the  child  in  her  arms ; 


138  THE  THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

while  Gaston,  moved  by  some  impulse  new  to 
him,  had  started  for  the  Doctor. 

"  0  my  God  !  "  she  cried.  "  If  I  had  not  been 
keeping  my  room,  this  would  not  have  happened ! 
If  Gaston  had  not  pulled  up  my  cloak  for  me,  it 
could  not  have  happened  !  Am  I  a  murderer,  a 
murderer  —  with  all  ?  " 

It  was  Beaudesfords  that  heard  her,  too  sorry, 
too  much  agitated,  too  busy  in  getting  splints  and 
bandages  from  the  maids  and  Mrs.  Stanhope  and 
the  housekeeper,  to  heed  the  meaning  of  any 
exclamations  at  such  a  time  as  that. 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  139 


XIV. 

THE  terrible  touch  of  pain,  beneath  Dr.  Ruthven's 
hand,  brought  back  the  child  to  life,  only  for  her 
to  lose  consciousness  again,  unable  to  bear  its 
burden.  The  broken  bones,  one  of  which  had  been 
bruised  almost  to  fragments,  were  set  at  last,  and 
the  child  was  put  to  rest  in  Catherine's  bed,  if 
rest  there  might  be  for  her  ;  and  Catherine  hung 
over  her  night  and  day,  refusing  to  yield  her 
place  to  servants,  sleepless  and  tireless,  sup 
ported  by  the  one  wild  fear  lest  the  child  should 
die  and  the  blood  be  on  her  head.  Gaston 
himself  never  imagined  the  real  reason  of  her 
devotion:  he  supposed  it  to  be  but  the  natural 
treatment  of  a  child  by  any  woman.  He  only 
saw  that  Catherine  through  it  all  was  very  calm 
and  composed  where  his  own  hand  would  have 
shaken.  McRoy  and  his  wife  were  as  useless  as 
two  children  themselves.  They  came  into  the  room 
and  sat  stupidly  staring  at  their  child,  and  then 


140  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

broke  out  into  sobs  and  cries  till  they  had  to  be 
taken  away.  Catherine  was  father  and  mother 
both  to  the  suffering  little  thing  that  lay  in  her 
bed.  The  sudden  horror  had  awakened  her  from 
her  lethargy  ;  she  saw  the  precipice  to  which  the 
current  on  which  she  reposed  had  been  bearing 
her ;  she  was  alert  and  alive  on  her  own  behalf 
with  watchful  fire. 

The  guests  had  left  the  house  to  its  hosts. 
Gaston  roamed  up  and  down  the  empty  apart 
ments  like  a  shadow,  galloped  off  to  the  water 
works  and  back  again  at  all  unseasonable  hours, 
as  heated  and  unquiet  as  the  blast  of  a  sirocco. 
Caroline  betook  herself  to  her  bed,  and  required 
in  one  day  more  nursing  and  attendance  from 
Rose,  her  mother,  and  the  maid,  than  the  child 
whose  life  hung  in  the  balance  —  and  whom 
Beaudesfords  and  Catherine  never  left  —  required 
in  all  her  illness.  Catherine  watched  the  Doctor's 
face  at  morning  and  night,  as  if  her  own  salvation 
depended  on  it :  for  May  grew  worse  with  pain 
every  hour,  and  at  length,  after  a  night  of  agony 
in  which  it  seemed  as  if  day  might  never  dawn, 
or  could  only  dawn  in  the  blackness  of  death 
when  it  did  come,  Catherine  left  Beaudesfords 
with  her  charge,  and  ran  over  the  crisp,  white 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  141 

fields  to  bring  the  Doctor  herself,  as  the  day  began 
to  issue  gray  and  pallid  from  the  night, —  Beau- 
desfords  unable  to  detain  her,  and  feeling  sure  the 
clear  cold  outside  air  was  only  a  needed  tonic. 

u  Bring  every  thing  1 "  she  cried.  "  I  am 
afraid  —  I  don't  know  what  I  fear !  It  may  have 
mortified —  you  will  have  to  amputate  —  Oh,  if 
she  only  lives,  no  matter  how,  Beaudesfords  will 
adopt  her,  for  my  sake, — we  will  make  her  our 
own  child!  Doctor,  you  must,  you  must  save 
her ! " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Dr.  Ruthven,  when  he 
had  examined  the  cause  of  alarm,  and  stepped 
into  the  adjoining  room,  "  if  it  is  best  or  not. 
Her  parents  should  decide.  Beaudesfords,  call 
McRoy." 

But  the  man  had  been  waiting  without,  sum 
moned  by  Catherine  as  she  returned  to  the  house. 
The  Doctor  went  up  to  him,  and  laid  his  hand  on 
his  shoulder.  "  My  poor  man,"  he  said,  "  if  I 
perform  this  operation,  in  which,  God  granting, 
the  child  shall  feel  no  particle  of  pain,  she  may 
live,  —  crippled,  it  is  true,  but  well  and  happy, 
and  cared  for  by  these  kind  friends.  If  I  do  not 
perform  it,  she  cannot  live  till  night." 

"And  why  are   ye  waiting?"  whispered  the 


142  THE  THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

gardener.  "  Haste !  haste,  man !  Be  quick  with 
you,  —  and  life  and  death  hanging  from  your 
hands!" 

"  Oh,  you  are  right,  McRoy ! "  cried  Catherine, 
though  in  no  loud  key.  "  But  there  is  something 
to  make  us  hesitate.  She  may  not  have  the 
strength ;  and  though  she  will  not  suffer  —  she 
will  not  suffer,  —  she  may  die  before  it  is  done." 

"  But  there  is  a  chance?"  he  asked,  looking 
with  strange,  scared  eyes  from  one  to  another. 

"  A  chance,"  said  Dr.  Ruthven,  "  a  chance, — 
not  a  certainty,  —  but  a  hope." 

"  Then  out  with  your  knife,  sir,  and  never 
spare  a  thrust !  Every  cut  will  strike  my  heart, 
but  I  shall  have  my  child  when  all 's  done,  —  my 
dear,  my  little  May !  We  shall  have  her  back  — 
have  her  back  !  "  And  staying  only  to  see  Cath 
erine's  arm  beneath  her,  —  while  strengthened 
by  the  fresh  air  she  had  inhaled  in  her  run  across 
the  fields,  and  by  her  longing  for  the  child's  life, 
Catherine  herself  held  the  napkin  and  the  blessed 
ether,  —  he  was  away  to  bring  his  wife,  and  wait, 
out  of  hearing  of  a  groan,  till  the  word  of  joy  or 
of  despair  should  be  spoken. 

As  the  gardener  went  down,  Gaston  met  him 
on  the  stairway.  His  face,  so  whitened,  and  lately 


THE   THIEF   IN  THE  NIGHT.  143 

grown  old  and  furrowed,  struck  Gaston  as  if  he 
had  seen  a  ghost.  Instead  of  seeking  his  own 
apartment,  he  went  boldly  onward,  drawn,  he 
knew  not  by  what  instinct  or  what  fear,  and 
paused  in  the  inner  doorway,  and  remained  there 
looking  on  the  scene,  —  whether  he^had  no  right 
to  shelter  himself  from  one  stroke  of  that  knife, 

—  whether  it  was  destined  that  he  should  see 
Catherine  hold  the  child  without  a  tremor,  while 
the  warm  blood  gushed  upon  her  and  offended 
her.     Not. a  soul  spoke,  no  one  stirred,  there  was 
not  a  breath  of  sound,  save  that  made  by  the  swift 
movements  of  the  Doctor.     When  it  was  all  over, 
the  bandages  bound   tightly  down,  the   napkin 
taken  away,  and  the  Doctor  had  swallowed  a  glass 
of  raw  spirits  to  steady  his  hands,  that  had  no 
innate  love  of  surgery,  and  after  their  work  was 
done  began  to  shake  like  two  leaves,  then  the 
child  opened  her  eyes,  wide  and  quiet,  and  gazed 
up  at  Catherine.    "  The  angels  will  look  like  you," 
she  breathed:  "  I  shall  be  one  of  them.     Then  I 

—  shall  take  care  of — you.     I  would  —  like  to 
see  my  father." 

As  if  he  had  heard  the  half-articulate  breath 
through  walls  and  doors,  McRoy  was  in  the  room, 
as  it  seemed,  with  a  single  bound,  and  down  be- 


144  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

side  the  bed  with  his  head  on  his  child's  heart. 
May  placed  both  her  pretty  hands  in  his  hair,  held 
up  her  face  to  Catherine  for  a  kiss,  —  a  trembling 
kiss,  —  and  Catherine  closed  her  eyes.  Then  the 
mother,  who  had  followed  her  husband,  all  dazed 
and  numbecfc?1  sat  down  in  Catherine's  seat,  and 
gazed  before  her  into  the  emptiness,  and  uttered 
at  last  a  loud,  wild  cry.  The  Doctor  went  to  her, 
knowing  better  how  to  solace  her  than  any  other 
could ;  and  Catherine  passed  through  the  doorway 
where  Gaston  stood,  and  looked  him  level  in 
the  face  with  eyes  that  said,  "  Your  work  and 
mine ! " 


THE   THIEF   IN  THE   NIGHT.  145 


XY. 

WHEN  little  May  had  been  laid  to  her  long  rest, 
and  the  great  house  was  still  once  more,  the 
early  days  of  March  were  beginning  to  blow  their 
whistling  breath,  the  snow  had  slipped  from  the 
hill-sides  to  the  valleys,  and  McRoy's  crocuses, 
to  which  he  seemed  to  give  his  whole  soul,  had 
peeped  up  like  risen  spirits  of  the  last  summer 
from  their  white  shroud  beneath  the  windows  and 
around  the  paths.  Catherine  had  not  kept  her 
room  another  day :  in  fact,  she  dared  not  be  left 
alone.  She  worked  with  her  mother  and  sisters, 
she  stood  silently  beside  McRoy  as  he  delved,  she 
marched  across  the  fields  for  miles  with  Beaudes- 
fords.  Beaudesfords  said  just  such  a  sudden, 
nervous  shock  had  been  the  thing  she  needed. 
If  Gaston  always  came  in  for  the  end  of  these 
rambles  taken  by  the  two,  and  the  quick  walk 
home,  Catherine  never  spoke  to  him  a  sentence 
beyond  the  ordinary  courtesies  of  the  occasion. 
7 


146  THE   THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

She  fancied  that  he  was  silently  establishing  a 
right  in  her  because  of  that  mutual  work  of 
theirs,  because  of  that  confidence  shared  between 
them,  and  unknown  to  others.  She  rebelled 
against  it,  and  never  referred  to  the  dead  child ; 
nor  did  she  linger  in  his  company,  or  suffer  him 
to  seek  her  own.  In  spite  of  all  she  had  felt  in 
the  past  or  still  felt  in  the  present,  the  idea  of 
even  that  partnership  with  Gaston  was  revolting  to 
her.  If, —  ah,  fatal  if!  —  if  she  loved  him,  sh'e 
loathed  him  too.  She  was  not  sure  she  did  love 
him,  —  of  the  two  it  was  not  his  happiness  that 
she  preferred :  she  never  raised  her  eyes  to  look 
at  him,  she  never  listened  when  she  heard  his 
voice.  As  she  became  aware  of  this  in  her  con-~ 
stant  self-examination,  she  was  glad,  with  a  sort 
of  stifled  gladness,  half  believing  she  was  about 
to  overcome  ;  and  then  as  suddenly  she  feared  that 
these  were  the  effects  of  her  will  and  not  of  her 
nature,  that,  if  she  refused  to  raise  and  rest  her 
eyes  on  Gaston' s  face,  it  was  because  the  image 
of  that  face  was  so  deeply  fastened  in  her  soul 
that  she  had  no  need  to  raise  her  eyes  to  see 
what  inwardly  they  so  perpetually  brooded 
over. 

Spring  was  hastening  forward  now  in  all  the 


THE   THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT.  147 

land:  the  rivulets  and  runnels  had  burst  their 
icy  scales  asunder,  and  fringed  their  banks  with 
such  a  callow  green  that  they  seemed  the  very 
highways  by  which  she  came.  There  was  that 
delicious  promise  in  the  air  that  lightens  every 
heart,  and  that  ineffable  fragrance  that  always 
precedes  the  full  breaking  of  the  blossom :  the 
hope  and  happiness  that  start  new-born  with 
every  year  pervaded  all  the  household  at  Beau 
desfords, —  all  save  Catherine.  Beaudesfords 
himself  was  as  full  of  mounting  gayety  as  the 
tree-twigs  are  of  sap  hurrying  to  burst  into  leaf 
age.  Gaston  sparkled  in  face  and  eye  with  joy 
of  the  fresh  weather, — with  a  new  determina 
tion.  Do  you  know  what  the  determination  was  ? 
He  was  going  away  —  when  the  water-works 
were  finished. 

For  Catherine's  part,  she  followed  Beaudesfords 
about  till  Rose  and  Mrs.  Stanhope  made  merry 
over  such  manifestations  of  devotion ;  and  Mrs. 
Stanhope  stroked  her  sleek  fur  every  day,  con 
gratulating  herself  that  she  had  known  what  was 
for  her  daughter's  welfare  better  than  that  daugh 
ter  herself  had  known.  But  in  reality  Catherine 
had  wished  to  endeavor  so  to  accustom  herself 
to  him  that  she  might  find  it  impossible  to  do 


148  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

without  him.  She  appealed  to  him  on  every 
trifle ;  she  went  to  him  with  a  thousand  solici 
tudes  and  confidences ;  she  studied  his  pleasures 
as  she  had  never  done  before ;  she  tried  with  all 
her  might  to  keep  him  ever  before  her,  to  make 
him  the  subject  of  her  waking  and  her  sleeping 
thoughts.  Never  had  she  been  so  humble,  so 
small  in  her  own  estimation.  She  wondered 
one  day,  in  looking  in  upon  it,  how  she  could 
ever  have  been  of  a  large  and  lofty  type  enough 
to  fill  the  ideal  of  the  pure  and  passionless  Ve 
ronica,  the  bride  of  Heaven  himself.  And  after 
every  thing  was  done,  the  whole  endeavor  and 
humility,  the  dark,  scarred  face  would  rise  before 
her  eyes  and  shut  her  out  from  all  the  world  save 
that,  as  she  had  seen  it  first  when  standing  with 
death  at  her  feet,  on  that  point  of  rock  in  the 
midst  of  the  swelling  waters.  This  life  again 
then  swept  in  a  wave  of  warmth  through  all  her 
blissful  veins,  and  hope  and  heaven  gleamed  for 
her  out  of  Arnold  Gaston's  eyes.  Or  else  some 
dream  of  the  night,  some  lawless  dream,  where 
Gaston  reigned  supreme,  would  lighten  up  a 
livelong  day  with  an  insane  happiness,  —  till 
night  again  came,  night  and  that  intense  inner 
loneliness  which  now  had  become  so  unbearable 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  149 

to  her,  and  in  which  peace  and  happiness  were 
lost  with  every  thing  else  but  horror. 

April,  with  all  its  blue  sky  and  silver  showers, 
had  come  and  gone.  It  was  May  Day  itself  in 
deed  ;  and  Beaudesfords  had  stolen  out  to  the 
woods  for  the  sweet  and  spicy  May-flowers  which 
he  loved,  and  with  which  he  meant  to  surprise 
Catherine  on  his  return.  He  forgot  the  disastrous 
end  of  the  last  surprise  that  had  been  studied 
with  a  flower.  Perhaps  he  would  have  arranged 
it  otherwise  had  he  remembered ;  for  there  was 
just  that  atom  of  superstition  about  him  to  give 
salt  to  his  caprices.  One  thing  and  another  busied 
all  the  rest  that  morning.  Catherine  took  up  a 
book  that  she  had  seen  Beaudesfords  reading,  — 
it  was  one  of  her  devices  by  which,  if  Gaston  were 
only  away,  she  would  have  studied  herself  into 
all  due  regard  for  Beaudesfords,  —  and  went  with 
it  into  the  conservatory,  wandering  through  the 
alleys  of  the  great,  green  palm-trees  there,  and 
sitting  down  at  last  in  the  warm  and  enervating 
atmosphere,  impregnated  with  its  deathly  sweet 
scents  and  dyed  with  blossom  tints  of  deepest 
azure  and  sharpest  scarlet. 

It  was  a  version  of  an  old  Middle  Age  legend  ; 
and  she  had  opened  it  at  that  place  where  the 


150  THE   THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

knight,  conscience-stricken  with  his  own  treachery 
to  his  king  and  friend,  bids  the  lady  farewell, 
and  crosses  to  his  castles  in  the  remote  land, 
remorse  running  at  his  stirrup.  Catherine  read 
the  chapter  listlessly,  not  taking  much  impression 
from  its  quaint  old  English,  when  suddenly  a 
finger  was  stretched  before  her  on  the  page, — 
the  finger  of  a  brown  and  nervous  hand  following 
along  the  lines,  —  and  Major  Gaston  read  out 
those  words  in  which  the  betrayer  of  his  friend 
speaks  to  his  mistress  in  an  eternal  parting.  And 
then,  before  the  passage  ended,  his  voice  trembled 
and  stopped,  and  Catherine  saw  a  great  tear  drop 
upon  the  leaf.  She  turned  her  head  slowly,  and 
looked  up  at  the  reader  where  he  leaned  one  arm 
on  the  stem  of  the  tree,  and  the  broad  banana-leaf 
spread  its  green  shelter  over  him  and  hung  its 
clusters,  like  bunches  of  blood-tipped  javelins,  just 
beyond.  Since  he  was  going  then,  —  since  it  was 
all  over,  —  since  this  was  the  last,  —  the  last,  the 
first  and  last !  His  head  bent  towards  her,  as 
once  before  it  had  bent,  —  towards  her  face  up 
turned  like  a  flower  to  the  sun, — and  then  a  rustle, 
a  foot-fall,  a  form,  —  McRoy,  perhaps.  Catherine 
started  and  picked  up  her  fallen  book,  as  Beaudes- 
fords  stooped  to  lift  it  for  her. 


THE  THIEF. IN  THE  NIGHT.  151 

She  rose  trembling  and  defiant  to  confront  him ; 
but  he  tumbled  the  great  pink  bunches  of  the 
May-flower  into  her  arms,  looking  at  them  with 
such  an  innocent  face  that  she  was  simply  amazed 
into  silence.  "Just  see  how  the  native,  wild 
savor  dissipates  all  these  foreign  scents,  so  rich 
and  so  unreal ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  the  wood-flowers 
asserted  their  sovereignty.  "  It  is  like  a  morning 
cock-crow  scattering  ghosts." 

It  was  indeed.  In  the  second  that  Catherine 
stood  there,  inhaling  that  delicious  breath,  she 
remembered  all  the  days  of  her  youth  and  her 
innocence,  —  countless  truant  noons  when  she  was 
a  child  and  Beaudesfords  a  boy,  and  they  went 
wandering  beneath  the  dark  woodside  shadows 
and  burrowing  in  the  moss  and  leaves  to  bring  up 
f[\Q  long  brown  wreaths  loaded  with  their  pink 
tufts  of  beauty.  How  her  father  had  kissed  her 
face  all  over  once  when  she  ran  in  with  her  hands 
full  of  the  fragrant  treasure !  And  these  false, 
false  kisses  for  which  a  moment  since  she  would 
have  pledged  her  soul,  —  oh !  they  stung,  they 
stung !  How  he  kissed  her,  —  her  father,  whom 
she  had  worshipped,  and  when  she  was  young  and 
innocent !  She  gathered  the  armful  of  flowers  to 
her  heart,  and  bowed  her  face  down  and  hid  it  in 


152  THE  THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

the  perfume  of  the  soft  petals.  "  Oh,  Beaudes- 
fords!  how  good  you  are  to  me!"  she  cried,  be 
fore  she  knew  it,  lifting  a  streaming  face  and 
hurrying  from  the  spot. 

If  Beaudesfords  had  till  now  been  blind,  he  was 
so  110  longer!  That  face  of  Catherine's  raised 
to  the  bending  one  above,  that  sudden  start,  that 
defiant  turn,  those  streaming  tears,  those  words, 
were  like  so  many  flashes  of  light.  Slight 
things,  but  all  that  were  needed.  For  in  an 
instant  a  fabric  rose  before  him  complete  from 
basement  to  battlement,  —  a  cloud-built  castle, 
that,  try  as  he  might  to  puff  it  away,  still  hung 
before  his  gaze,  and  out  of  whose  every  window 
Catherine  looked  with  eyes  of  love  on  Gaston. 

Without  delaying  to  exchange  a  word  with 
his  remaining  companion,  Beaudesfords  followed 
Catherine  from  the  conservatory,  and  then  plunged 
into  his  own  den,  up  and  down  whose  floor  he 
walked  or  bounded,  like  a  caged  leopard,  half 
the  day.  He  was  neither  stunned  nor  stupefied, 
but  awake  and  receptive  to  his  very  pores :  he 
was  writhing  with  pain  at  mistrusting  Gaston, 
with  pain  at  Gaston' s  treachery  to  him.  with 
anger,  with  grief,  with  love  for  Catherine.  That 
night  on  the  river,  when  she  and  Gaston  in  the 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  153 

boat  ran  down  among  the  breakers,  took  a  new 
meaning.  If  they  had  only  told  him  at  that  time, 
that  time  not  yet  three  years  ago,  before  it  had 
been  too  late !  He  would  have  forgotten  himself; 
he  would  have  compassed  heaven  and  earth  for 
them.  It  hurt  him  more  than  it  maddened  him. 
And  then  how  was  it  possible  to  have  such  fears 
and  fancies  concerning  his  white-souled  wife  ? 
Why  had  he  exposed  her  to  temptation  ?  What 
woman  ever  withstood  Gaston  ?  Oh,  if  she  had 
come  to  him  and  confided  in  him  and  begged  him 
to  take  her  away  again,  —  how  he  would  have  for 
given,  how  he  would  have  helped  !  Ah,  why  not 
leave  the  world  and  them  together  ?  Then,  in 
hasty  contradiction  of  all  this,  he  endeavored  to 
become  convinced,  as  one  thing  started  up  after 
another  in  his  memory, — that  blush,  that  staining, 
branding  blush  with  which  his  friend  and  wife 
had  met  on  the  day  when  she  returned  to  her 
home  and  found  him  there  ;  that  face,  that  wild, 
white  face,  that  on  Christmas  Eve  searched  the 
storm  with  him  ;  their  earnest  pantomime  a 
little  after  ;  her  singing,  and  her  saying,  and  her 
silence  ;  her  sudden  illness  and  as  sudden  recov 
ery ;  looks,  sighs,  tears,  surprises,  deeds,  —  that 
they  were  suspicions,  base  suspicions,  and  ground- 


154  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

less.  He  raged  and  raved  and  spurned  himself, 
a  husband  and  a  friend,  for  entertaining  them. 
He  recalled  all  Catherine's  sweet  submission  of 
late,  as  she  had  followed  him,  yielded  to  him, 
humored  him,  studied  him.  He  saw  at  least  the 
effort :  he  felt  as  though  he  were  the  guilty  one, 
since  except  for  him  no  effort  would  be  needed. 
He  passed  through  into  what  had  once  been  his 
own  sleeping-room,  the  beautiful  and  spacious 
place  with  its  casement  opening  on  the  garden 
and  guarded  by  two  giant  firs  ;  and  when  he  was 
weary  of  gazing  at  the  St.  Veronica  hanging 
there,  —  now  more  than  ever  like  Catherine,  as 
he  thought, —  he  went  out  at  last,  declaring  that 
he  must  have  been  mad,  merely  mad,  nor  could  he 
insult  his  wife  or  Gaston  by  another  doubt. 

But  suspicion  is  a  serpent  that,  once  startled, 
has  its  head  erect  and  hissing  ever  afterwards. 

Beaudesfords  bent  his  steps  to  the  river : 
the  fresh  air  playing  there  would  blow  off  all 
these  megrims,  he  said.  He  waved  his  hand  to 
Catherine  in  going,  as  he  looked  back  at  her 
sitting  on  her  balcony,  where  she  saw  the  long, 
large  landscape  bathed  in  the  afternoon  clearness 
of  May ;  where  she  saw  Gaston  floating  in  his 
boat,  and  following  in  and  out  the  windings  of 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  155 

the  stream.  A  shadow  darkened  Beaudesfords' 
face,  and  swept  away  again,  as  a  cloud  sweeps  its 
shadow  over  any  sunny  clover-field.  He  beckoned 
Gaston  to  take  him  on  board  ;  and  shaping  their 
course  up-stream,  where  the  river  ran  in  rapids 
between  the  hills,  —  the  smooth  outside  of  which 
rapids  they  were  wont  to  skirt,  and  then  come 
down  like  an  arrow  on  their  bosom,  —  they  were 
soon  out  of  sight. 

Catherine  had  just  risen  to  go  in,  an  hour  later, 
when  the  boat  came  slipping  down  again  before 
the  wind ;  and  she  paused,  standing  there  half- 
turned,  to  watch  its  great  white  sail  take  on  the 
sunset  tints,  —  listlessly,  and  with  little  interest  in 
that,  it  seemed  to  her,  or  in  any  thing  else  in  the 
world.  She  saw  the  rosy  flush  catch  the  sail,  as 
she  paused ;  she  saw  the  windy  flaw  from  the 
hills  following  fast  behind  it  on  the  surface  ;  she 
saw  the  boat  rock  and  careen  as  the  flaw  struck 
it,  saw  it  dip  its  sail  far  over  and  down ;  she  saw 
the  two  men  in  the  water,  struggling  through  the 
stream  for  shore,  —  and  one  she  saw  go  down, — 
and  one,  the  fair  head,  the  fresh  face,  .Beaudes 
fords',  stood  safe  and  whole  upon  the  river-bank ; 
and  had  a  bullet  pierced  her  brain,  she  could  not 
have  dropped  more  instantly.  Had  she  kept  con- 


156  THE  THIEF   IN   THE  NIGHT. 

trol  of  her  pulses  one  moment  longer,  she  would 
have  seen  Beaudesfords  dash  in  and  down  again, 
and  bring  up  his  companion  to  the  capsized  boat's 
edge,  till  together  they  loosened  the  rope  that  had 
entangled  and  held  him  under,  and  together 
reached  the  shore  once  more,  rather  in  glee  over 
the  adventure  than  in  gloom  over  such  an  approach 
to  disaster.  "  Cannot  a  woman  faint  with  joy  on 
finding  her  husband  safe,  as  soon  as  with  despair 
at  finding  his  rival  drowned  ?  "  asked  Beaudesfords 
of  himself  by  and  by,  when  he  had  heard  of  Cath 
erine's  mishap.  Yet  reason  with  such  willing 
sophistries  as  he  might,  something  told  him  that 
sophistries  they  were  ;  and  from  that  day  there 
was  no  more  rest  for  Beaudesfords.  The  uncon- 
sidered  atoms  that  had  floated  formlessly  in  mind 
and  memory  had  taken  shape  and  consciousness. 
It  was  the  last  setting  of  the  crystal.  "  It  is 
strange,"  said  he  to  Gaston,  in  bidding  him  good 
night,  "  that  we  need  oblivion  half  our  life  in 
order  to  endure  the  other  half." 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  157 


XYI. 

EVERY  one  within  the  walls  of  the  great  house 
of  Beaudesfords  felt  now  some  ferment  going  on 
there :  with  the  unconscious  as  well  as  with  the 
conscious  ones  a  strange  agitation  seemed  to  be 
everywhere  present.  Hearts  beat  and  temples 
fluttered,  and  all  alike  had  that  sensation  of  pre 
sentiment  which  we  feel  in  beginning  to  -dread 
the  neighborhood  of  some  unknown  evil. 

It  was  not  Gaston  now  that  wrought  out  prob 
lems,  but  Beaudesfords,  who,  watchful  as  a  lynx, 
was  constantly  putting  two  and  two  together :  as 
if  by  some  clairvoyant  sympathy,  he  heard,  he 
felt,  he  saw  every  thing ;  no  tone,  no  glance,  es 
caped  him.  One  thing  alone  escaped, — the  fact 
that  Catherine  desired  of  him  the  support  and 
protection  he  had  sworn  to  afford  her,  desired 
him  to  save  her.  But  Beaudesfords  was  mortal, 
and  bitter  things  began  to  work  within  him  and 
bring  his  better  nature  to  naught. 


158  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

Catherine  had  seen  now,  with  the  positive 
assurance  of  one  who  comes  face  to  face  with 
a  terrible  consequence,  that  Gaston  must  go,  — 
if  rest,  if  any  feeble  goodness,  if  Beaudesfords, 
if  life  were  hers,  Gaston  must  go.  Meanwhile, 
Gaston  seemed  to  have  changed  roles  with  Beau 
desfords  :  it  was  he  who  had  become  restless,  and 
almost  gay,  and  irresolute  withal,  as  the  other 
never  was ;  for  still  that  determination  of  his 
hung  on  the  cloud  like  a  bow  of  promise,  and 
because  he  meant  to  go  he  regarded  himself  as 
magnanimous  as  if  he  had  already  gone. 

They  were  out-doors  in  the  mild  May  weather 
almost  constantly.  Mrs.  Stanhope,  desirous  nev 
er  to  grow  so  old  as  to  be  excluded  from  her 
children's  pleasures,  sent  carpet  and  sewing-chair 
out  on  the  green  grass-plot.  Even  Caroline  had 
a  heap  of  afghans  and  cushions  spread  on  the 
wicker  garden-seats,  where,  after  the  sun  was 
high,  she  reclined  in  elegant  valetudinarianism, 
and  fretted  because  Catherine  and  Beaudesfords 
were  so  stupid  as  to  have  no  company  in  such  an 
Italian  season  ;  while  Rose  and  Catherine  fol 
lowed  McRoy  through  the  aisles  and  avenues, 
trimming  and  training,  the  one  delighted,  the 
other  soothed,  by  helping  bud  and  blossom  to 
burst  out  freely  into  such  happy  sunshine. 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  159 

Rose  came  up  the  garden  one  of  these  pleasant 
afternoons,  followed  by  an  artistic  vagabond,  who, 
wayfaring  from  town  to  town,  had  stopped  at 
Beaudesfords  to  beg  for  a  repast.  She  made  him 
leave  his  basket  of  rude  images  in  the  path  while 
she  should  take  him  round  to  Mrs.  Grey,  to  be 
refreshed  in  the  housekeeper's  hospitable  domain, 
and  then  came  back  herself  to  lift  the  cover  from 
the  basket  and  explore  its  contents. 

"  I  always  had  a  fancy  for  this  sort  of  thing," 
said  Rose,  "  and  so  had  my  lady  Beaudesfords 
when  she  was  plain  Catherine.  Caroline,  now, 
was  too  grand:  she  would  none  of  them"  — 

"Give  her  parian  or  give  her  death,"  said 
Gaston. 

"But  give  me  parian  or  give  me  plaster.  Yes: 
to  tell  a  secret,  when  Catherine  and  I  have  been 
in  bliss  over  the  sumptuousness  of  our  parlor", 
decorated  by  a  cream-colored  Dante,  price  twenty 
cents,  standing  on  a  bracket,  first  painted  green 
and  then  smeared  with  yellow-dust  as  a  true  and 
original  bronze,  then  Caroline,  with  malice  afore 
thought,  has  been  known  deliberately  to  smash 
the  said  Dante,  and  to  wish  she  could  do  it 
again ! " 

"  I  'm   sure   I   did  ! "   said   Caroline,  with   a 


160  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

flicker  of  energy.  "  They  were  always  nonsen 
sical  caricatures,  false  to  art,  and  only  true  to 
poverty,  which  I  detest ! " 

"Maybe,"  said  Rose.  "But  Catherine  and  I 
love  them.  Catherine's  own  room  here  is  half 
full  of  them.  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Beaudesfords, 
that  sometimes  you  put  me  in  mind  of  that  Nea 
politan  beggar-girl  who  married  a  prince,  and  ate 
so  little  at  table  that  they  watched  her,  and  found 
she  secreted  many  and  various  crusts  about  her 
self,  and  when  she  entered  her  closet  divided 
these  crusts  among  the  empty  chairs  and  lounges 
there,  and  then  humbly  went  round  the  room  on 
her  knees  and  begged  of  each  chair  and  table  its 
crust,  and  retiring  into  a  corner  with  her  gains 
munched  away  upon  them  to  the  tune  of  a  hearty 
appetite?" 

•  "  Were  poverty  and  Stanhope  Cottage  so  much 
sweeter  than  the  present?"  asked  Beaudesfords, 
with  sudden  rudeness,  and  in  so  sharp  a  tone 
that  every  one  had  turned. 

"  Not  poverty,"  said  Catherine.  "  But  Stan 
hope  Cottage  was  always  sweet,  though  never  so 
sweet  as  Beaudesfords  has  been." 

"And  is  not!" 

"  Dear  Beaudesfords,"  she  answered  gently,  but 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT.  161 

courageously,  "  perhaps  there  is  something  wrong 
here,  some  unnatural  element  just  now,  or  else 
we  should  all  be  so  happy  in  this  heavenly  place, 
being  alive  and  well,  and  with  such  beautiful 
weather."  And  she  went  back  to  lopping  her 
roses ;  while  Beaudesfords  repeated  her  words, 
"  Some  unnatural  element "  —  and  strolled  down 
the  path,  his  chin  upon  his  breast. 

"  Beaudesfords  is  dyspeptic,"  said  Gaston.  "  I 
have  seen  the  time  myself  when  an  apple-dump 
ling  changed  the  face  of  creation." 

Rose  sprang  down  the  path  after  him  at  the 
words,  and  brought  him  back  with  her  to  inspect 
the  basket.  "It  is  absurd  to  say  you  have  dys 
pepsia,"  she  cried.  "  Don't  you  dare  to  be  ill ! 
There  is  enough  fever  round  already.  The  houses 
down  in  the  Great  Wood  are  all  reeking  with 
typhus." 

"  My  poor  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Stanhope,  with  more 
motherliness  than  she  was  accustomed  to  exhibit, 
and  putting  her  hands  in  his  curls  as  he  knelt 
with  Rose,  "  I  am  a  little  worried  about  you  now. 
I  am  afraid  you  are  not  well." 

"  Don't  agitate  yourself  about  me,  Mamma 
Stanhope,"  he  answered,  with  a  quick  change  of 
manner,  taking  her  hand  and  kissing  it.  "  You 


162  THE   THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

are  far  too  good  to  me.  I  never  had  a  mother 
of  my  own.  But  you  are  dearer  than  a  dozen. 
What  a  kind  and  wise  little  woman !  But,  for 
all  that,  you  have  made  some  mistakes  in  your 
life." 

"  Come,  come !  "  cried  Rose :  "  will  Catherine 
suffer  you  to  sentimentalize  over  Mamma  Stan 
hope  in  this  way?  A  man  cannot  marry  his 
grandmother !  Lose  yourself  in  these  treasures, 
my  friend.  Shakespeare  for  a  dime ;  Caesar  at 
half  the  money.  Such  is  fame !  What  a  feast 
of  plaster  and  flow  of  pennies  this  would  have 
been  for  us  once,  Catherine,  when  it  cost  us  such 
arguments  to  decide  how  to  spend  our  allowance 
of  fourpence-ha'penny,  and  an  image-boy  was  a 
messenger  of  the  gods  !  Look  at  this  Madonna ; 
and  here  is  Rachel  herself.  Think  of  the  price 
less  PhMre  for  two  shillings  !  " 

"  The  chiefest  pose  in  all  the  4  slim  Hebrew's ' 
repertory  for  two  shillings,"  repeated  Gaston, 
looking  over  their  shoulders. 

"  And  dear  at  any  money ! "  cried  Beaudes- 
fords,  rising.  "  Tell  me  the  value  of  any  repre 
sentation  of  perjury  and  passion !  Are  unfaithful 
wives  so  rare  that  they  should  be  preserved  and 
sealed  like  flies  in  amber  ?  What  was  Phedre  ? 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE  NIGHT.  163 

A  woman  possessed  by  supernatural  evil,  as  an 
other  woman  was  possessed  by  seven  devils.  Pos 
sessed  by  Venus,  maddened  by  Yenus  —  her  sole 
claim  that  she  is  the  ideal  and  apotheosis  of  every 
woman  that  has  been,  that  is,  that  ever  will  be 
false  to  the  husband  to  whom  she  pledged  her 
faith ! "  As  he  spoke,  he  flung  down  the  little 
image  that  he  had  held,  and  with  his  foot  crushed 
it  to  fragments,  then  gathered  up  the  fragments 
at  a  stroke  and  tossed  them  into  the  little  lake, 
the  wind  of  their  motion  whistling  by  Catherine's 
face  as  she  sat  upon  the  edgestone  that  bounded 
its  border  in  that  portion,  while  sharpening  her 
knife,  and  not  once  glancing  aside  or  up.  Gaston 
saw  the  dull,  determined  look  settling  over  her 
features,  as  the  waters  flashed  to  meet  the  broken 
fragments ;  and  Beaudesfords  saw  it  too,  and 
stood  and  stayed  to  survey  it  a  long,  scornful 
moment.  She  slowly  raised  her  eyes,  aware  of 
his:  he  might  have  read  in  them  her  indignant 
protest,  her  asseverance  of  truthful  endeavor, 
her  prayer  for  help,  but  he  saw  there  only  a 
defiant  declaration. 

"  Well,  my  friends,"  continued  Beaudesfords, 
directly,  before  they  had  well  taken  breath  after 
his  outbreak,  "  tell  Mrs.  Grey  to  pay  our  wayfarer 


164  THE  THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

for  my  spoliation ;  and,  as  we  have  had  enough 
of  heroics,  I  think  I  will  go  and  explore  into  the 
nature  of  this  fever-district  that  Rose  tells  us 
about." 

"  Now,  for  pity's  sake,  do  be  careful,  Beau- 
desfords!"  cried  Caroline.  "Don't  be  bringing 
home  the  infection,  and  having  us  all  down  with 
the  disease ! " 

"  Entertain  no  fears,"  said  Beaudesfords.  "  Do 
you  want  I  should  promise  you  that,  henceforth,  I 
will  myself  monopolize  all  the  ill  things,  as  here 
tofore  I  have  monopolized  all  the  good  things,  of 
this  life?" 

Hope  departed  from  Catherine  as  she  heard 
Beaudesfords  saying  these  taunting  things.  She 
had  been  asking  herself  on  that  same  afternoon, 
if,  since  she  could  do  no  better,  it  were  not 
even  best  to  go  to  him  herself,  to  say  to  him: 
"  My  friend,  a  year  ago  we  were  so  happy  to 
gether!  I  reverenced  you,  my  affection  grew 
with  the  days.  Now  a  fatal  influence  overshadows 
us :  not  a  passion,  since  I  will  not  yield  to  it ;  not 
a  love,  since  I  despise  it,  since  I  detest  myself  and 
its  object  equally.  To-day  it  seems  that  all  is  lost 
but  honor.  Yet  you,  by  taking  me  away,  can 
save  to  me  peace,  happiness,  reason."  Possibly 


THE  THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  165 

she  would  not  have  shaped  her  cry  in  any  such 
grandiloquent  phrase  ;  but  that  would  have  been 
its  meaning ;  and  he,  perhaps,  at  any  other  time, 
would  have  received  it  kindly,  since  he  had  mar 
ried  her  knowing  love  was  absent,  accepting  then 
her  own  terms,  and  feeling  not  the  full  right  to 
complain  if  his  mistake  worked  woe.  But  now, 
when  there  had  been  made  such  a  revolution  of 
all  the  old  sweetness  in  his  nature,  while  he  was 
in  this  vindictive  and  savage  mood,  she,  not 
wholly  innocent,  dared  not  appeal  to  him:  she 
feared  him,  and  would  have  abased  herself  in  the 
dust  before  him,  uncertain  if  he  would  not  trample 
upon  her. 


166  THE   THIEF   IN   THE  NIGHT. 


XVII. 

IT  was  a  wild  week  to  Catherine.  She  recalled 
without  ceasing  what  Beaudesfords  had  said  of 
PhMre  ;  and  it  appeared  to  her  that  she  was  only 
a  modern  counterpart  of  that  wretched  being  her 
self,  weakened  with  the  dilution  of  civilized  blood, 
but  as  wanton,  as  wicked,  as  demon-driven.  She 
moved  about  the  house,  possibly  more  stonily  cold 
than  ever,  but  glad  at  least  that  her  mother  and 
sisters  were  too  deeply  occupied  with  their  own 
preparations  for  approaching  gayeties  to  give 
heed  to  the  tragedy  taking  place  beneath  their 
eyes. 

And  would  Gaston  go  if  she  implored  him? 
It  came  to  that  at  last.  Very  likely — provided 
she  went  with  him.  What  could  she  do  but  die, 
hunted  to  the  death  by  both  these  cruel  men  ! 

But  had  Gaston  no  gratitude,  no  love  for  Beau 
desfords,  no  noble  side  that  would  give  her  the 
help  which  now  she  dared  not  ask  from  the  other  ? 


THE   THIEF   IN  THE   NIGHT.  167 

Was  it  to  be  believed  that,  if  she  begged  of  him 
this  one  and  only  thing,  —  if  she  besought  him 
not  to  drag  her  into  certain  misery,  but  to  leave 
her,  —  he  would  refuse  it  ?  As  she  thought  of  it, 
forgetting  that  the  entreaty  was  confession,  it 
grew  already  real  to  her,  —  the  words  she  would 
say,  his  reply,  their  farewell,  —  or  peradventure 
no  reply,  nothing  but  absence,  —  peace  then,  and 
by  and  by  eternity.  Her  brain  grew  clear  as 
if  filled  with  a  great  light,  she  fell  into  her  first 
unhaunted  slumber  for  many  a  weary  midnight, 
and  it  was  on  the  next  day  that  she  wrote,— 
wrote  in  the  whirl  of  that  inner  tumult  in  which 
she  had  lived  of  late,  which  made  it  impossible 
for  her  to  question  or  weigh,  to  wonder  if,  instead 
of  love,  it  were  not  rather  hatred,  and  pity 
because  of  the  hatred,  that  this  man  made  her 
feel  when  she  desperately  folded  her  paper,  to 
consider  if  she  were  not  ruled  by  a  mere  fascina 
tion  of  habit,  to  ask  what  it  meant  that  she  should 
seek  thus  to  preserve  Beaudesfords'  peace  at  the 
cost  of  Gaston's.  It  is  true  that  it  occurred  to 
her  that  the  woman  who  had  the  strength  to  make 
such  a  request  had  also  the  strength  to  recover 
herself  without  any  request  at  all,  but  she  put 
the  thought  away :  she  chose  to  write ;  it  was  the 


168  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

single  sacrifice  that  she  would  make  to  Gaston  — 
to  whom  she  had  no  right  to  sacrifice  at  all. 

Only  one  person  saw  that  note.     It  was  not 
long.     But  could  it  have  been  any  thing  else  than 
an  outpouring  of  all  that  which  had  scorched  and 
seared  her  heart  and  soul  ?     Imploring  Gaston  to 
grant  her  prayer  by  all  their  mutual  emotion,  by 
all  their  gratitude  to  Beaudesfords,  did  not  the 
prayer  itself  attest  whatever  the  eagerest  lover 
longs  to  hear?     Perhaps, — since  this  was  all,  the 
first  word  and  the  last,  she  said, — as  once  in  the 
conservatory  she  had  said  or  dreamed  before, — 
greeting  and  farewell,  —  perhaps  since  this  closed 
all  the  rest,  and  rolled  the  stone  against  the  tomb, 
she  wrote  what,  an  hour  later,  she  would  have 
given  her  best  hopes  of  the  hereafter  not  to  have 
written  at  all.     For  whether  the  words  were  pas 
sionate  acknowledgment  of  what  once  was  but 
now  existed  no  longer,  or  whether  they  were 
slight   and  feeble   phrases  of  request,  —  to   her 
proud  soul,  when  the   reaction  came,  the  mere 
pencilling  of  them   seemed   a   shameful   crime. 
She  did  not  direct  her  note,  or  seal  it:  it  was 
unnecessary  when  Gaston  was  to  receive  it  from 
herself.     She  never  paused  to  think  how  dangerous 
a  step  she  had  taken,  nor  that  black  and  white 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE  NIGHT.  169 

are  inflexible  witnesses,  but  went  down  to  dinner 
with  the  note  hidden  in  her  handkerchief, — 
wearing  a  radiant  face,  persuaded  she  was  safe. 

Catherine  had  remembered  that  it  was  Beau- 
desfords  who  always  rose  from  table  to  hold  the 
door  open  while  Mrs.  Stanhope  and  her  daughters 
passed  out,  on  occasions  when  the  gentlemen 
lingered  over  their  wine,  as  lately  they  had  fre 
quently  done.  And,  sitting  next  Gaston,  when 
she  rose  she  laid  the  note  upon  his  hand  as  it 
rested  along  his  knee  just  beneath  the  cloth.  It 
seemed  to  her,  as  she  performed  it,  so  cowardly 
and  contemptible  and  reprehensible  an  action, 
that  she  sickened.  Her  heart  gave  a  deadly  leap 
as  she  left  the  note :  she  grew  so  pale  that  Gaston 
himself  had  sprung  to  the  door  before  Beaudes- 
fords  had  more  than  risen ;  and  then  Beaudesfords, 
undisturbed  and  cool,  resumed  his  seat.  But  as 
he  did  so,  the  little  note,  that  had  fluttered  to  the 
floor  unheeded,  caught  his  eye :  he  stooped  and 
raised  it,  uncertain  to  whom  it  belonged.  He 
glanced  at  Catherine ;  and  with  the  glance,  as  if 
a  whole  revelation  had  been  suddenly  made,  he 
took  his  wallet  out  and  dropped  the  note  therein, 
and  hid  it  again  in  his  breast-pocket. 

Catherine  had  seen  it  all.  She  hesitated  an 
8 


170  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

instant  at  the  door,  —  hesitated  in  that  gracious 
and  slow-moulded  way  of  hers :  she  turned  to  go 
back  and  demand  it,  but  at  that  moment  two  gen 
tlemen  were  conducted  through  the  hall  to  Beau- 
desfords'  den,  as  his  private  business-room  was 
called  ;  and  before  she  could  gather  wits  or  words 
Beaudesfords  had  excused  himself  to  Gaston,  and 
had  passed  out  through  another  door  to  join  the 
strangers.  And  Catherine  felt  that  she  had  signed 
her  own  death-warrant. 


THE   THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT.  171 


XVIII. 

WHEN  Beaudesfords  appeared  in  the  drawing- 
room  some  two  hours  later,  his  face  was  as  pale 
as  Catherine's.  He  had  been  using  camphor- 
water  freely,  and  he  shook  an  atmosphere  of  it 
around  himself  from  his  handkerchief  as  he  lifted 
the  curtain  of  the  inner  room. 

"  I  should  think  you  were  a  whole  hospital- 
ward!"  cried  Caroline. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Beaudesfords  ?  "  asked  Mamma 
Stanhope. 

"  Not  exactly.     A  little." 

"  You  ate  nothing,  I  noticed,"  she  began,  with 
her  stately  sort  of  bustle.  "  You"  — 

"I  have  been  down  in>the  typhus-district.  It 
is  the  reason  I  was  away  from  home  last  night." 

"  Oh,  Beaudesfords  ! "  cried  Rose.  "  And  those 
strangers  were  "  — 

"  My  lawyers.  I  sent  for  them  as  soon  as  I 
discovered  the  malignant  character  of  the  disease 
where  I  had  been." 


172  THE   THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT. 

"  How  absurdly  you  talk !     As  if  "  — 

"  I  have  been  making  my  will,  little  Eose  in 
Bloom.  I  sent  for  them  —  the  lawyers  —  in  case 
of  accident.  Since  dinner  the  accident  became 
a  certainty"  — 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean,  Beaudesfords  ? 
A  certainty  ?  "  cried  Caroline. 

"  To  me !  Perhaps  not  to  another.  On  the 
whole,  I  don't  know  that  a  man  can  have  a  more 
enjoyable  occupation  than  that  of  making  his 
will.  He  disproves  the  old  adage  that  you  can't 
have  your  cake  and  eat  it  too ;  for  he  gives  away 
every  thing,  and  keeps  it  notwithstanding." 

"  But,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Stanhope  im 
peratively,  "  I  can't  listen  to  any  such  badinage. 
Lawyers  and  wills  and  typhuses !  Those  wretched 
people  down  there  in  the  Great  Wood  have 
preyed  upon  your  feelings,  and  wrought  you  into 
a  nervous  headache  that  you  would  persuade 
yourself,  as  all  men  «do,  must  be  incurable. 
You  will  drink  this  strong  tea  and  be  better." 

"  Thank  you,  Mamma  Stanhope.  You  are  as 
good  as  a  doctor.  Nevertheless,  I  shall  have 
Ruthven,  and  I  shall  take  my  own  old  rooms 
again, — the  St.  Veronica  suite,  you  know, —  so 
that  if  I  have  brought  home  the  confounded  in- 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  173 

fection,  as  Caroline  prophesied  the  other  day, 
Catherine  may  be  safe." 

"  Oh,  Beaudesfords  !  "  cried  Catherine.  And 
then  she  stopped,  for  it  came  over  her  in  a  burn 
ing  rush  from  head  to  foot  where  it  was  possible 
he  might  have  read  those  last  three  words.  "  Oh, 
Beaudesfords!"  she  cried  again.  But  she  dared 
say  no  more ;  for,  in  spite  of  his  pleasantry,  his 
eye  was  as  glittering  as  an  eagle's.  But  if  he 
were  ill,  and  she  were  to  be  shut  out  in  this  way, 
—  she  stood  up  suddenly,  and  as  suddenly  sat 
down  again,  believing  that  she  was  growing 
wild. 

"  By  the  way,  Gaston,"  said  Beaudesfords 
then,  "  I  have  left  you  the  St.  Veronica." 

Gaston  answered  nothing. 

"  The  St.  Veronica  and  half  my  fortune,  old 
boy.  It  is  not  your  fault  if  you  survive  me.  The 
other  half  I  leave,  as  the  will  says,  to  my  dear 
and  honored  wife." 

Gaston  and  Catherine  alone  understood  the 
sarcasm  of  tone  and  speech,  knowing  its  every 
word  was  studied. 

Then  Beaudesfords  set  down  his  teacup,  and 
arose. 

"  If  you  will  send  for  Ruthven,  Mamma  Stan- 


174  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

hope,"  said  he,  "  I  will  go  to  my  quarters.  Good- 
by,  little  Rose,  —  I  think  you  would  be  sorry  if 
any  thing  happened  to  me.  That  is  the  polite 
euphemism,  is  it  not  ?  Don't  follow  me,  friends. 
I  am  to  be  left  alone.  Frye  sleeps  in  the  room 
beyond,  —  and  sleeps  soundly  too, —  the  door  is 
closed,  and  I  ring  if  I  need  him.  I  want  no  at 
tendance,  please.  Be  sure  that  I  am  obeyed." 

"  But,  Beaudesfords  —  I  believe  you  are  de 
lirious  already !  "  exclaimed  Caroline.  "  What 
sort  of  directions  for  a  man  threatened  with  a 
fever !  Why,  when  I  am  sick,  I  want  every 
body  ! " 

"  Be  sure  that  I  am  obeyed,"  replied  Beaudes 
fords,  in  his  gentlest,  firmest  tone.  "  Make  as 
merry  as  you  may,  till  I  return  to  make  merry 
with  you.  Good-night."  He  lifted  the  silken 
curtains,  and  they  fell  behind  him  heavily,  swing 
ing  and  subsiding  in  their  long  folds ;  and  as 
Catherine  watched  them,  it  flashed  upon  her, 
with  swift  portent  and  premonition,  that  over 
Beaudesfords'  bright  head  they  were  never  to 
part  again. 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  175 


XIX. 

BEAUDESFORDS  had  scarcely  entered  the  so  long 
unused  room,  which  now,  according  to  his  pre 
vious  order,  he  found  prepared  for  him,  —  and 
which  once  he  had  fitted  lip  in  a  splendor  of  boy 
ish  caprice,  saying  that,  if  the  St.  Veronica  could 
no  longer  hang  in  a  cathedral  niche,  she  should 
at  least  look  down  on  private  and  lay  magnif 
icence,  —  when  there  was  a  tap  upon  the  door,  it 
was  pushed  open,  and  Catherine  had  entered. 

Her  first  glance  showed  her  Beaudesfords  bend 
ing  over  a  portfolio  that  lay  on  a  little  stand  of 
writing-materials  near  the  head  of  the  bed,  while 
he  hid  his  wallet  —  doubtless  with  her  note  in  it, 
she  believed— between  the  portfolio  leaves.  She 
hardly  noticed  the  corpse-like  whiteness  of  his 
face,  nor  the  peculiar  rigidity  of  his  movements, 
as  if  the  nerves  of  volition  were  strained  to  their 
last  pitch  of  endurance,  so  in  the  instant  did  she 
long  for  some  word  wicked  enough,  some  cabalisni, 


176  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

witchcraft,  diabolism,  strong  enough  to  possess  for 
her  the  thing  that  wallet  held,  to  destroy  it,  to 
annihilate  it, — that  note!  That  writing  which 
was  not  to  save  her  happiness,  but  to  ri^in  Beau- 
desfords' !  That  writing  which,  at  this  moment, 
appeared  to  her  to  be  a  lie,  and  the  record  of  a 
lie,  from  beginning  to  end  !  It  may  be  that  the 
actual  longing  was  strong  enough  virtually ;  for 
all  at  once,  as  if  relieved  of  a  nightmare's  press 
ure,  she  asked  what  odds  it  made  to  her  how 
long  Gaston  stayed  in  the  place  ?  Was  she  not 
the  wife  of  Beaudesfords,  honored  and  honoring, 
seeking  his  happiness  ?  Could  she  not  entertain 
his  friends,  one  or  another,  indifferently  ?  Did 
not  his  very  right  to  her  duty,  his  right  as  a  hus 
band,  give  him  the  dignity  and  manhood  she 
loved  ?  What  nobility  he  had  displayed,  what 
loftiness,  —  glad  now  to  die  and  give  the  thing  he 
valued  most  to  the  one  who  would  have  spoiled 
him  of  it,  —  magnanimity  of  which  the  other  man, 
little  better  than  a  beggar  on  his  bounty,  no  better 
than  a  traitor  to  his  faith,  was  destitute  and 
naked !  And  as  she  saw  Beaudesfords'  nature 
take  its  peerless  proportions,  Gaston's  shrank  to 
a  recreant  shape,  and  disappeared  in  nothingness. 
It  seemed  to  her  as  if  some  lightning-stroke  had 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT.  177 

struck  her,  and  remade  her  in  that  swift  moment, — 
as  if  she  had  been  born  again  another  woman 
with  another  heart !  If  she  could  only  get  back 
that  note  unread,  that  lie  unuttered, — if  now  she 
could  but  be  Beaudesfords'  own,  henceforth  and 
for  ever ! 

"  Catherine  ! "  exclaimed  her  husband,  coming 
towards  her.  "  Here  !  when  I  forbade  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Beaudesfords,  if  you  will  only  let  me 
stay!"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands. 

"  When  I  forbade  it  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  have  you  ill  and  keep  away  myself," 
she  said  hotly.  "  I  must  be  with  you !  I  am 
your  wife  !  I  claim  my  right !  " 

"  You  are  my  wife,"  he  said.  "  And  it  is  fit 
you  should  remind  me  of  it." 

"  Do  not  speak  to  me  so,  Beaudesfords  !  If  you 
are  ill,  I  must  —  I  must  take  care  of  you !  Oh, 
Beaudesfords,  if  you  love  me  !  " 

"  And  you  dare  —  you  dare  to  say  it !  " 

Catherine  never  could  rehearse  that  scene 
exactly  to  her  own  memory,  as  mere  remem 
brance.  Trying  to  recall  it,  she  no  longer  remem 
bered,  she  lived  it !  She  -was  in  it,  it  wrapped 
her  like  the  whirlwind,  she  breathed  it  over 
again.  Again  she  heard  his  voice  in  her  ears,  — 

8* 


178  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

"  And  you  dare,  —  you  dare  to  say  it !  "  Again 
she  was  caught  in  his  arms,  pressed  close,  close  to 
his  convulsive  heart;  her  face,  her  hands,  her 
cheeks,  her  forehead,  her  mouth,  covered  with 
great  passionate  kisses.  "  Good-by,  good-by,  my 
darling!  "  she  could  hear  him  murmur,  all  bitter 
ness  melted  away.  "  God  knows,  God  knows  I 
love  you ! "  and  the  door  was  locked  between 
them. 

She  crouched  there  beside  the  door,  listening 
to  his  hurried  walk,  that  never  ceased  till  Mrs. 
Stanhope  brought  Dr.  Ruthven  to  the  place. 
The  one  was  allowed  entrance,  the  other  excluded 
by  a  sign  and  without  a  word,  —  for  Beaudesfords 
had  his  own  idea,  in  sending  for  the  Doctor, 
intending  perhaps  that  to-night's  illness  should 
answer  for  to-morrow's  discovery  ;  and  Catherine 
heard  no  more,  except  as  the  Doctor  told  her. 

Beaudesfords  was  ill,  Dr.  Ruthven  said ;  a 
slight  attack  ;  nothing  serious,  though  ;  no  typhus 
whatever.  His  nerves  had  been  wrought  upon 
by  something  or  other  till  he  was  half  beside  him 
self.  He  must  be  humored:  that  had  been  always 
necessary  with  a-  Beaudesfords.  It  had  been  one 
of  his  crotchets,  ever  since  he  was  a  boy,  to  isolate 
himself  if  he  were  ill.  The  wild  creatures  of  the 


THE  THIEF   IN  THE   NIGHT.  179 

woods  felt  the  same.  It  only  showed  how  near  he 
was  to  Nature..  He  would  ring  if  he  wanted  any 
thing :  at  present,  he  demanded  to  be  left  abso 
lutely  alone.  If  he  should  become  any  worse, 
they  would  need  to  reason  with  him.  Meanwhile, 
a  composing  powder.  Then  Dr.  Ruthven  recom 
mended,  with  a  somewhat  ominous  voice,  that 
servants  should  be  stationed  in  Frye's  room,  to 
hear  if  Beaudesfords  expressed  a  wish,  or  to  assist 
Frye,  if  need  were ;  and  he  promised  to  be  in 
again  by  daybreak, —  for  the  Doctor  had  reached 
that  age  when  men  think  it  a  merit  in  them  to 
rise  before  the  sun.  And,  after  that,  the  good  man 
went  home,  persuaded  that,  as  he  could  detect 
nothing  alarming  ailing  his  patient,  Beaudesfords 
was  only  preparing,  by  the  aid  of  his  slight  indis 
position,  a  fright  for  Gaston  and  my  lady  that 
would  do  them  both  good  to  the  end  of  their 
lives,  and  heartily  willing  to  co-operate  with  him 
to  the  extent  of  his  deceptive  abilities,  which,  as 
he  had  already  proved,  were  not  small. 

It  was  a  June  night  of  heavy  dews.  As  the 
starlight  entered  and  made  her  a  companion  of 
strange  shadows,  Catherine  walked  silently  up 
and  down  the  hall,  hearkening  every  now  and 
then  for  some  word  or  signal  from  within  the 


180  THE   THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT. 

room.  But  none  came  ;  and  the  hours  grew  long 
and  longer,  while  silver  clocks  chimed  them  to 
one  another  all  down  the  suites  of  rooms,  and  up 
the  distant  stairways.  The  light  burned  till 
broad  day  in  the  western  wing.  Mrs.  Stanhope 
and  Rose  came  gently  down,  to  see  how  all  was 
going,  when  midnight  had  just  passed.  Catherine 
sent  them  back,  and  still  walked  along  the  tufted 
mattings,  with  her  weary  thoughts  and  the  star- 
cast  shadows  for  companions.  Not  a  sound,  not 
a  murmur,  not  a  breath,  came  from  the  sick 
man's  room.  Beaudesfords  slept,  she  said  to 
herself :  he  would  waken  in  the  morning,  —  after 
such  refreshing  slumber,  waken  well.  If  only 
she  could  get  that  note  of  hers  before  he  should 
have  read  it,  he  would  waken  well  and  happy. 
He  had  not  read  it  yet,  she  said.  She  felt  confi 
dent  of  that :  his  honor  did  not  sit  so  lightly  on 
Beaudesfords  as  to  let  him  open  a  paper  belonging 
to  another.  There  had  not  come  a  rustle  to  indi 
cate  as  much,  since  she  had  waited  there ;  and 
what  time  had  he  had  before  ?  Forgetting  what 
he  had  said  in  the  drawing-room  about  an  acci 
dent's  becoming  a  certainty,  or  else  not  having 
comprehended  then  the  meaning  of  his  words,  — 
forgetting,  too,  that  a  goaded  and  crazed  curiosity 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  181 

might  be  as  potent  an  element  as  honor, — forget 
ting,  in  the  agitation  of  the  hour,  that  that  note 
had  not  been  addressed  to  another  or  to  any  one. 
Her  solicitude  began  to  take  the  shape  of  a  mania 
concerning  the  thing.  If  she  could  but  get  it 
back  in  her  possession,  what  a  bright  and  cheerful 
day  lay  before  her  !  What  a  life  !  What  useful 
ness,  and  what  delight,  to  wander  hand  in  hand 
with  her  husband  down  its  slope !  How  she 
would  go  to  Beaudesfords  herself,  without  a 
blush,  and  tell  him  this  secret -of  hers,  —  this 
thing  that  she  had  learned  since  purple  twilight 
had  shut  down  over  all  the  rosy  world  !  She 
walked  the  long  hall  more  proudly,  with  an 
assured  step.  She  answered  the  mute  challenge 
of  those  phantom-like  portraits  on  the  wall,  with 
their  dim  eyes  following  her  in  the  starlight,  — 
she  also  was  an  honest,  happy  Beaudesfords  !  Not 
once  did  she  think  of  Gaston :  she  only  wept  that 
she  had  delayed  her  happiness  so  long. 

Then  Catherine  questioned  with  herself  if  it 
were  not  practicable  for  her  to  obtain  that  note, 
after  all.  If  he  slept,  and  she  stole  it  from  the 
portfolio,  and  he  never  knew  for  years  and  years 
the  danger  they  had  escaped  !  The  idea  was  no 
sooner  hers  than  she  commenced  making  it  a 


182  THE   THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT. 

fact,  going  swiftly  up  into  her  own  sitting-room 
—  where  Olympe  slumbered  loudly,  half  slipped 
from  the  great  chair, —  and  preparing  a  similar 
piece  of  paper  to  put  in  its  place  when  she  should 
have  laid  hands  upon  the  original. 

Down  again :  all  was  still.  Softly  opening  the 
long  hall  casement  and  creeping  across  the  ve 
randa,  over  the  steps,  and  out  upon  the  dewy 
garden-paths.  She  remembered  that  Beaudes- 
fords  had  set  his  own  casement  ajar :  she  saw  it 
now  as  it  swung  half-open,  guarded  by  its  two 
mute  sentinels  of  towering  trees.  She  was  sure 
then  that  he  slept.  Nothing  disturbed  the  hush 
of  night  that  hung  over  the  garden.  The  Triton 
blew  his  horn,  and  its  water-drops  flashed  faint 
and  far  into  the  little  lake ;  the  leaves  rustled 
gently  and  viewlessly  among  themselves ;  now 
and  then  a  dew-drop  fell  and  pattered  from  one 
to  another ;  now  and  then  a  puff  of  wind  shook 
them  all  to  fragrance,  and  passed.  The  great 
heavy-headed  roses  slept  beside  the  way;  the 
honeysuckle's  perfect  breath  enriched  the  wind 
that  crept  across  the  alleys.  Overhead  the  large 
soft  summer  stars  seemed  to  wheel  in  a  languid 
dream.  You  could  fancy  that  from  their  vast 
heights  they  already  saw  the  morning  dawn, — 


THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT.  183 

but  here  it  was  cool,  dark,  dewy,  and  delicious 
night.  Catherine  swept  through  the  dew-sweet 
alleys,  her  gown  gathered  about  her,  pushed  fur 
ther  open  the  casement  that  she  sought,  stepped 
in.  The  light  burned  dimly  there,  would  ex 
pire  ere  long.  She  could  just  see  Beaudesfords 
by  the  faint  ray,  as  she  stood  there  a  moment, 
while  the  same  ray  fell  on  her  face  and  form 
framed  by  the  night  behind  ;  could  see  him  lying 
back  upon  his  pillow,  with  his  eyes  closed,  and 
breathing  the  heavy  breath  of  one  who  forgets 
fatigue.  Noiseless,  with  haste,  she  stole  to  the 
little  stand  near  his  bed,  tore  open  the  portfolio, 
found  the  wallet  —  except  for  some  bank-bills  — 
empty.  She  stifled  the  cry  that  rose  to  her  lips, 
—  ah,  he  knew  all,  then  !  She  turned,  and  would 
have  gone  ;  but  something,  that  irresistible  finger 
of  fate,  it  seemed  to  her,  when  by  and  by  its  re 
membrance  gave  her  a  sort  of  solace,  compelled 
her  for  one  moment  yet  to  stay,  to  bend  above 
Beaudesfords,  careless  whether  he  woke  or  not, 
to  press  her  lips  gently,  lingeringly,  long,  upon  his 
forehead,  and  then,  without  a  look  behind  her, 
she  stole  away  as  she  had  come,  through  the  still 
and  sleeping  garden,  while  the  cry  of  a  watch 
dog  was  answered  by  that  of  some  more  distant 


184  THE   THIEF  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

farm,  till  the  hillsides  swallowed  all  the  baying 
echoes  in  silence. 

When  the  sound  of  her  last  footfall  had  ceased 
upon  the  path,  Beaudesfords  slowly  dragged  him 
self  up  to  the  dull  light  and  held  there,  to  read 
its  script  once  more,  the  paper  in  his  hand,  —  a 
letter  written  and  addressed  to  her,  enclosing  in 
its  leaves  that  fatal  note  which  she  had  come  to 
seek  and  come  too  late.  He  felt  still  that  soft 
and  lingering  kiss  upon  his  forehead,  —  a  kiss  of 
pity,  forsooth !  and  he  desired  no  pity.  Yet,  in 
spite  of  that,  he  held  his  hand  a  little  while  above 
it,  as  if  the  common  air  might  wipe  its  seal  away. 

"  Catherine,"  Beaudesfords  had  written,  "  I 
can  refuse  you  nothing.  And  is  there  any  thing 
of  which  I  would  rob  Gaston  ?  See, —  I  have 
discovered  at  last  the  secret  between  you.  I 
should  have  known  it  earlier.  If  I  stole  my 
knowledge  —  I  am  about  to  pay  the  old  penalty 
of  theft.  It  was  my  fault  that  I  ever  came  be 
tween  you.  I  am  going  now  to  leave  you.  My 
darling, — I  have  found  life  sweet, —  how  sweet! 
—  0  God,  how  sweet !  Yet  I  can  bear  to  sur 
render  it,  because  after  this  there  is  another, — 
and  there,  there,  there,  you  will  be  mine ! 
Though  your  beautiful  flesh  be  his,  your  soul 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE  NIGHT.  185 

shall  be  mine !  through  all  the  ages  of  eternity 
shall  be  mine !  I  am  assured  of  it,  I  can  wait 
for  it,  I  shall  have  bought  it  with  my  blood ! " 

He  lay  a  little  while,  when  he  had  finished 
reading  it,  with  the  letter  underneath  his  face,  as 
if  in  itself  it  were  something  dear  to  him.  Then 
he  half  rose,  seeing  the  candle  flicker  and  fearing 
lest  the  light  should  die  first  and  leave  him  to 
make  failure  in  the  dark, —  a  moment  too  late, 
for,  as  he  thought  of  it,  the  flame  fell.  He  sank 
back,  and  as  one  hour  and  another  went  by  he 
lay  there  in  the  dusk  till  twilight  began  to  sift 
across  it,  —  a  twilight,  he  felt,  that  was  to  usher 
in  no  common  day  for  him,  but  was  rather  the 
aurora  of  that  divine  dawning  whose  day  was  to 
have  no  end.  The  world  had  already  begun  to 
recede  from  him,  the  agony  of  renunciation  had 
passed  into  an  obscure  aching,  at  last  that  in  turn 
was  stilled :  he  had  abandoned  all ;  and  now  his 
great  freeholds,  his  manhood  and  strength  and 
beauty,  his  wife,  his  friend,  his  troops  of  friends, 
could  not  with  all  their  intertwisted  fibres  hold 
his  spirit  down.  It  was  not  indifference  that  pos 
sessed  him,  it  was  eagerness,  —  eagerness  to  be 
up  and  away.  Now  in  the  misty  mood  of  this 
soft  half-light,  before  the  sunlight  should  make 


186  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

the  bright  earth  an  actual  thing  once  more,  he 
must  make  haste  to  be  gone :  he  took  up  the  tiny 
knife  that  lay  sharp  and  glittering  beside  him, 
stretched  out  his  bared  arm  with  its  hand  clenched 
till  the  veins  stood  forth  large  and  livid,  and  then 
the  knife  had  done  its  work  and  had  fallen  on  the 
coverlet,  and  a  purple  stream  was  gushing  silently 
down  and  away  with  his  life.  He  had  grasped 
the  folded  letter  in  his  other  hand,  and  he  lay 
now  with  his  eyes  upon  the  sweet  rejoicing  eyes 
of  the  St.  Veronica,  shining  softly  and  dimly  as 
a  ghost  in  the  gloom,  before  him  and  above  him 
on  the  wall.  "  It  is  my  expiation,"  said  Beaudes- 
fords  to  himself.  "  I  do  no  wrong  now  —  it  can 
not  be.  I  did  wrong  then,  two  years  ago  and 
over :  I  forgot  every  one  but  myself,  —  now  I  for 
get  myself.  They,  too,  will  forget  me,  —  they 
will  smile  and  be  happy,  —  the  summer  weather 
will  make  them  glad  again,  the  winter  snows 
shall  not  chill  them.  Me,  only,  shall  they  chill, 
cold  long  before.  God  bless  them  —  oh,  God 
bless  them !  Ah,  ah,  how  softly  you  desert  me, 
treacherous  life!  Drop  by  drop,  —  and  one  drop 
leaves  me  here, —  and  between  that  and  the  next 
I  go  —  for  the  light  fails  —  the  day  dies  —  I  see 
nothing  but  that  face,  sweet  face,  stamped  in 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  187 

upon  my  soul,  shining  out  of  the  dark  —  Cathe 
rine  —  whom  I  love  "  — 

The  morning  wind  had  long  since  begun  to 
breathe  far  off  in  the  listening  night:  now  it 
quivered  up  the  river-course  and  ruffled  all  the 
forest  and  the  field,  crept  along  the  garden-aisles 
and  under  all  the  bosky  shields  of  lightening 
green,  trembled  through  the  boughs  of  the  great 
guardian  firs  as  though  through  mighty  harp- 
strings,  blew  in  the  open  casement  and  lightly 
lifted  all  the  yellow  locks  upon  that  ivory  fore 
head.  Then  it  swept  out  again  into  the  garden, 
waiting  in  the  gray  of  dawn  with  its  fragrance 
and  freshness  and  sparkle ;  for  every  thing  there 
told  of  motion  and  life  and  joy,  and  here  all 
things  waited  for  Death. 


188  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 


XX. 

THE  snowy  silken  curtains  had  been  loosed  from 
their  cords  of  gold,  and  only  swayed  gently  in  the 
breeze  that  crept  through  the  blinds,  sweeping 
their  heavy  fringes  along  the  floor,  and  filling  the 
room  with  a  soft  and  sacred  gloom,  as  Gaston 
still  stood  there  gazing  down  at  Beaudesfords 
lying  in  the  filtered  light  which  made  the  atmos 
phere  about  him  seem  like  that  of  some  other 
world.  The  house  was  without  a  sound ;  for 
Caroline's  hysterics,  and  Mrs.  Stanhope's  heavy 
steps  to  and  fro  in  her  own  room,  were  hushed 
by  closed  doors  and  distance.  Beaudesfords  lay, 
as  he  had  been  left  in  Dr.  Ruthven's  hurried 
absence,  like  one  who  sleeps  upon  his  pillow,  and 
not  yet  robed  in  the  final  habiliments,  for  the 
people  had  said,  in  their  ghastly  jargon,  that  it 
would  be  easier  to  clothe  one  in  that  condition 
to-morrow  than  to-day ;  nor  had  the  warmth  of 
life  quite  ebbed  in  these  two  hours.  That  horrid 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  189 

sharpness  which  the  features  of  the  dead,  the 
faint,  and  the  cataleptic  share  alike,  had  slowly 
and  entirely  passed  away,  the  eyelids  had  partially 
closed,  an  utter  calm  lay  on  the  white  face,  and 
something  so  like  a  smile  had  settled  round  those 
chiselled  lips,  that  it  seemed  now  far  more  the 
sweet  slumber  of  fatigue  than  that  eternal  sleep 
which  knows  no  waking  in  the  flesh.  There  was 
a  majesty  about  that  prostrate  form  with  which 
not  all  the  helplessness  that  wraps  the  dead  could 
do  away,  —  that  abandoned  helplessness  which 
cannot  give  back  look  for  look,  which  is  forced 
to  suffer  the  reading  of  secrets  hidden  once  by 
bloom  and  smile  and  sparkle,  but  now  all  plainly 
written  to  the  eye  that  knows  the  cipher,  —  that 
helplessness  which  leaves  the  dead  at  the  mercy 
of  the  gazer,  exposed  to  love  or  scorn  alike. 
This  majesty  of  Beaudesfords'  was  something  now 
superior  to  clay  or  to  corruption :  as  if  the  monarch 
of  creation,  Death,  which  is  the  life  everlasting, 
held  his  state  in  such  dust  that  day. 

But  while  he  gazed  upon  this  mould  of  death, 
a  living  flame  seemed  to  have  heated  Gaston's 
memory :  every  day,  every  hour,  every  word  of 
his  intercourse  with  Beaudesfords  started  up  in  it 
complete,  and  their  black  shadows  stalked  through 


190  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

this  fiery  furnace,  as  if  to  assure  him  of  their  im 
mortality,  and  of  the  fact  that  he  should  never 
be  forgotten  by  them  in  their  haunting  power. 
The  wrongs  he  had  done  the  dead  man  looked 
him  in  the  face  with  their  evil  eyes,  the  treachery 
to  his  friend  upbuoyed  all  these  wrongs  like  an 
element  to  which  they  were  native,  —  a  heavy, 
leaden  element  into  which  they  could  never  sink 
and  drown  fathoms  deep.  Beaudesfords'  long 
service  of  loving-kindness  became  like  the  fester 
ing  wound  of  a  poisoned  blade,  one  sharp  and 
bitter  agony  of  remembrance.  Such  confused 
and  terrible  images  were  shaping  themselves  in 
his  mind,  like  the  phantasmal  outlines  of  those 
wavering  exhalations  that  rise  from  regions  of 
stagnant  marshes,  that  he  began  to  fear  lest  his 
reason  reeled  already,  and  he  should  expiate 
his  folly  and  his  sin  in  a  mad-house. 

But  through  it  all,  as  I  have  said,  through  the 
frenzy  of  sorrow  and  shame  and  dread  and  pas 
sion,  one  thought  domineered,  kept  piercing  him 
again  and  again  with  its  thrill  of  delicious  pain,  — 
every  thing  whirled  and  centred  about  it,  every 
thing  came  back  to  it,  he  opened  his  arms  and 
took  it  and  hugged  it  to  his  heart :  it  was  this, 
that  whether  Beaudesfords  lived  or  Beaudesfords 


THE   THIEF   IN  THE   NIGHT.  191 

were  dead,  Catherine  and  Gaston  loved  each 
other ! 

Whether  Beaudesfords'  own  will  had  put  a 
period  to  the  light  of  day  that  shone  for  him,  — 
or  whether  Catherine's  strong,  firm  hand  it  was 
that  had  guided  home  that  little  knife, — the  deed 
was  done,  the  barrier  was  down,  there  was  nothing 
now  between  the  two,  the  way  was  clear  before 
them  for  all  earthly  bliss ;  and  when  Death  took 
them,  —  dearest  delight  of  all ! — their  dust  should 
mingle  into  one  dust.  For  beyond  death  Gaston 
never  looked :  he  believed  nothing  but  the  evidence 
of  the  senses.  "  There  is  a  sixth  sense,"  said  a 
witty  Frenchman,  "  the  sense  of  the  ideal ;  and 
d'Holbach  had  but  five  senses. "  Gaston  had  no 
more.  He  had  never  seen  the  grand  shadows  of 
futurity  with  any  eye  of  faith :  to  him  the  here 
after  was  only  a  vast  void.  He  meant  all  the  more 
to  suck  the  honey  from  each  moment  as  it  became 
the  present :  he  needed  to  hear  with  his  own  ears 
the  voice  of  some  actual  angel  of  the  resurrection 
declare,  "  And  yet  the  dead  do  rise  !  " 

Perhaps  Gaston  was  trying  himself  too  far  in 
calling  up  this  throng  of  dark  and  sad  recollec 
tions,  of  intentions  rosily  glowing  with  hope  and 
rapture,  while  looking  down  on  that  still  face 


192  THE  THIEF   IN  THE  NIGHT. 

below,  which  he,  and  none  other,  had  robbed  of 
life.  But  he  knew  that,  so  long  as  he  lived  on 
the  solid  earth,  that  face,  the  immaterial  counter 
part  of  that  face,  must  hang  like  a  dreadful  mask 
perpetually  between  him  and  the  world  ;  and  if 
now,  at  its  first  and  strongest,  he  met  it  and 
blunted  all  the  anguish  it  could  yield,  it  would 
afterwards  become  of  no  more  import  than  any 
face-cloth  tossed  aside  by  the  rifler  of  a  grave. 
But,  when  Gaston  said  that,  a  taunting  voice 
seemed  to  speak  close  beside  his  ear,  and  tell  him 
that  he  was  not  rifling  a  grave,  he  was  filling 
one ;  and  then  another  voice  returned,  like  a 
mocking  antiphon,  that  he  was  rifling  it  even  of 
its  good  name.  For  was  he  not  suffering  Beau- 
desfords'  name  to  be  sent  abroad  on  the  winds 
blasted  with  the  stigma  of  suicide  ?  And  that 
when  he  knew,  and  none  better,  that  yonder  white 
hand  upon  the  wall  had  severed  the  vein,  that 
yonder  face,  that  blotch  of  beauty  in  the  portrait 
there,  had  darkened  while  the  deed  was  doing. 
If  it  was  not  thus  —  if — but  there  Gaston's  cour 
age  stayed — he  had  loved  Beaudesfords  —  strange 
contravention  of  his  being,  he  loved  him  still  — 
he  feared  to  think  of  what  it  could  have  been  that 
had  spurred  his  own  hand  to  such  a  thrust,  he 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE  NIGHT.  193 

absolutely  dared  not  look  at  that  moment  when 
Beaudesfords  staggered  out  of  the  world  because, 
finding  his  wife  worthless  and  his  friend  false, 
the  foundations  of  life  gave  way  beneath  him. 
The  surprise  and  the  contempt  of  this  dead  man 
were  strokes  that  he  alive  had  no  courage  to 
meet :  he  evaded  all  the  subject  by  fastening 
upon  that  hand  in  the  portrait ;  a  white  hand,  — 
but  red  last  night,  he  said.  And  what  of  that  ? 
he  said.  We  make  the  act  hideous  by  the  name 
of  murder ;  but  what  signifies  a  name  ?  Was 
life,  after  all,  so  precious  a  boon  —  for  himself, 
he  had  never  until  now  found  it  worth  the  keep 
ing, —  so  cruel  a  loss,  a  matter  of  such  moment, 
that  its  taker  must  needs  be  a  fiend?  A  fair 
fiend  here, — ah,  heavens,  how  fair!  —  how  sweet 
the  smile,  how  exquisite  the  grace,  how  rare  the 
tints !  —  those  locks  of  palest  gold,  that  sapphire 
sheen  in  the  eye,  that  bloom  upon  the  cheeks  like 
a  wild-rose  grown  in  happy  shadow,  those  lips 
that  pouted  for  their  lover's  kiss  —  ah,  once, 
once !  Be  she  however  false,  be  she  however 
base,  be  she  twice  as  foul  as  she  was  fair,  in  spite 
of  sin  or  shame  or  life  or  death  he  loved  her ! 
It  was  time  that  Gaston  looked  to  his  reason  lest 
it  reeled.  Stone  walls  never  shut  in  from  further 
9 


194  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

outraging  the  world  a  fitter  subject  than  this  man 
when  he  had  lost  his  last  perception  of  right  or 
wrong ;  when  honor,  that  runs  along  the  flashing 
of  a  soldier's  sword,  had  ceased  to  have  an  exist 
ence  for  him ;  when  virtue  had  become  a  thing  of 
no  account ;  when  the  embrace  of  a  presumed 
murderess  allured  and  did  not  repel  him ;  when 
the  moral  leprosy,  engendered  by  the  mind's 
familiar  contact  with  possible  sin  in  the  future, 
had  penetrated  the  brain  with  its  foul  loathsome 
ness  and  disease,  till  it  had  lost  polarity  and 
meridian,  and  did  not  know  heaven  from  hell. 

The  bright  breeze,  creeping  over  the  bosom  of 
the  blossoms  in  the  garden,  came  bustling  into 
the  room  again,  lifting  the  drapery  of  the  case 
ment,  and  bringing  Beaudesfords  word  of  the 
beautiful  world  outside,  —  of  the  world  he  had  re 
nounced  but  two  hours  since,  of  the  cedarn  alleys 
full  of  shadow,  where  he  had  wandered  when 
first  his  heart  swelled  with  love  for  Catherine, 
of  the  flowers  whose  fragrance  was  not  so  fra 
grant  in  his  fancy  then  as  Catherine's  lips,  of  the 
birds  whose  most  delicate  melody  was  less  me 
lodious  than  her  voice  had  been,  but  all  of  which 
he  had  held  dear  to  him  with  the  strong  love  he 
had  of  the  vivid  real  earth,  and  God's  hand 


THE   THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  195 

visible  there.  The  breeze  blew  lightly  in,  it 
curled  among  the  silken  curtains,  it  lifted  the 
lock  on  Beaudesfords'  marble  forehead,  mocking 
life  as  it  could  ;  it  poured  its  gay  message  into  his 
silent  ear,  it  made  all  the  room  fresh  and  sweet 
with  its  burden.  But  Beaudesfords  heard  and 
Gaston  heeded  nothing,  the  one  in  his  white  icy 
slumber,  the  other  in  his  black  hot  reverie.  And 
while  the  breeze  blew  and  rioted  there,  and  shook 
down  the  petals  from  the  silver  tripod  of  red 
roses,  a  footfall  had  sounded  on  the  carpet, — 
not  that  step  light  as  the  breeze  itself  on  the 
summer  turf, — but  the  heavy  foot  that  has 
stumbled  upon  a  grave;  and  Catherine  stood 
again  on  the  other  side  of  that  still  sleeper, 
with  all  the  curtains  looped  away  between  them 
from  the  carved  pearl  of  their  supports. 

Gaston  did  not  glance  at  her  at  first :  he  was 
still  gazing  at  the  portrait  over  her  head,  the  por 
trait  full  of  such  palpitating  color,  such  beauty 
and  such  life.  For  many  minutes  after  he  was 
aware  of  Catherine's  presence  he  still  kept  his 
eyes  on  the  painting,  with  a  vicious  intensity,  till 
the  lovely  face  might  have  been  fixed,  as  if  with 
fire,  upon  their  retina.  When  at  length  he 
lowered  his  gaze  towards  Catherine  herself,  the 


196  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

earth  seemed  to  move  from  where  he  stood, 
seemed  to  quiver  ever  so  slightly  beneath  his 
feet  that  failed  him ;  for  whether  it  were  some 
power  from  his  body,  some  faculty  from  his 
mind,  some  person  from  his  world,  something 
had  vanished:  what  it  was,  he  had  no  means 
of  conjecturing ;  his  heart  was  not  beating,  but 
trembling;  his  memory  appeared  all  at  once  to 
encumber  his  mind  like  dead  stuff,  beneath  the 
paralyzing  potency  of  this  inexplicable  sensation. 
For  that  vision  of  a  woman  standing  before  him 
was  an  unfamiliar  thing :  it  was  no  longer 
Catherine ;  or,  if  it  was  indeed  the  person  of 
that  portrait,  it  was  she  repeated  in  what  ghostly 
medium,  beneath  the  ray  of  what  unearthly  spec 
trum  ?  Where  had  fled  the  radiances,  the  warm 
flesh-tints,  the  glory  about  her  that  always  re 
minded  you  of  light,  as  if  a  star  had  opened  to 
let  her  forth  ?  This  woman  was  whiter  than  the 
form  beneath  her  hand, —  only  the  violet  eyes 
looked  out  as  if  all  heaven  were  shining  into 
them. 

It  was  the  briefest  space  ere  Gaston  had  him 
self  in  hand  again,  a  space  only  long  enough  to 
shiver  in ;  one  of  those  lingering,  curdling  shivers 
with  which  gossips  say  that  some  foot  treads  on 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  197 

the  sod  that  is  one  day  to  bury  you  from  the 
sight  of  the  sun.  But  what  had  given  him  his 
bewildered  pause  was  the  recoil  —  with  all  his 
thoughts  surging  on  in  their  certainty  —  in  this 
new  woman's  face,  as  if  day  after  day  had  lied  to 
him,  as  if  sunshine  had  grown  blood-red,  as  if 
the  earth  were  but  a  cloud  and  vapor,  —  the 
doubt,  the  dread,  that  she  could  never  have  done 
this  deed,  that  Catherine  could  never  have  loved 
him.  "  Catherine !  "  he  cried,  and  paused. 

He  had  never  called  her  so  before.  But  it  was 
her  name  ;  and  there  are  times  when  people  for 
get  their  ceremonies.  A  simple  word;  but  its 
intonation  bore  such  hope,  such  determination, 
such  a  claim,  such  proud,  quick,  pleasured  confi 
dence,  that  its  sound  was  an  offence. 

She  had  not  heard  him  at  the  first.  The  full 
meaning  of  it  did  not  overcome  her  till  Gaston 
called  her  name  the  third  time.  Then  she  looked 
up,  calm  as  only  those  are  who  rise  great  on  great 
events,  and  meet  life  or  death  even-handed,  an 
equal,  asking  no  odds.  "I  think  you  forget," 
she  said  gently,  "  that  you  speak  to  the  wife  of 
Beaudesfords." 

"  His  widow,"  said  Gaston. 

"Death  cannot  widow  me  of  Beaudesfords," 


198  THE   THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

said  Catherine,  gently  still.  "  1  shall  always  be 
his  wife." 

"  No  more,  no  more !  "  suddenly  cried  the  other, 
his  dark  face  dark  as  a  thunder-cloud,  his  eye 
heavy  with  lightnings  and  with  rain.  "  Not  his, 
but  mine,  —  oh,  mine!  " 

Was  this  the  haughty  Gaston,  the  self-repressed 
and  silent  man?  Or  was  the  so-long-pent  lava- 
stream  of  that  volcanic  nature,  now  that  the 
barrier  was  destroyed,  pouring  forth  fused  with 
its  fierce  central  fire.  It  was  not  Catherine, 
though,  that  asked  the  question,  —  far  too  highly 
wrought  herself  to  wonder  at  the  same  thing  in 
another.  She  only  drew  back  a  little,  with  a 
quick  anger  as  if  her  husband  had  been  hurt 
through  her,  —  an  anger  that  passed  like  a  mere 
flash  upon  the  great  stress  of  the  so  much  stronger 
emotions  with  which  she  had  been  overwhelmed. 
And  as  for  Gaston,  he  had  not  meant  that  any 
temptation  should  betray  him  to  such  lengths  ; 
he  had  not  meant  to  see  her,  to  speak  with  her, 
much  less  to  claim  her,  for  days  or  even  months 
to  come ;  he  had  a  tigerish  quality  that  loved  to 
dally  with  its  prey  ;  and,  so  far  as  he  had  any  plan 
of  action  at  all,  it  was  the  scheme  of  commanding 
reverence  from  the  fickle  falsehood  of  a  weak  soul 


THE   THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT.  199 

for  the  superior  strength  of  that  manly  nature 
that  was  constant  to  its  friendship  through  all 
the  labyrinths  of  passion ;  and  it  may  be  that  he 
had  besides  a  certain  mantle  of  decorous  and 
noble  behavior  to  assume  and  deceive  even  him 
self.  Yet  now,  when  all  these  contending  forces 
of  rage  and  grief  and  horror,  and  desire  and  fear, 
overmastered  him>  he  was  not  the  demi-god  he 
had  believed  himself  to  be:  he  had  no  more 
resistance  than  if  an  alien  power  from  far  with 
out  had  seized  him  and  bent  him  like  a  straw  to 
its  wicked  will. 

"  Not  his,  but  mine !  "  cried  Gaston  once  again ; 
for  now  that  the  first  word  had  been  spoken,  the 
first  glance  given,  he  could  not  break  too  boldly, 
too  utterly,  the  seal  of  his  past  silence.  "  We 
have  endured,  we  have  suffered.  You  are  no 
longer  bound,  —  the  world,  the  whole  world  is 
before  us,  —  mine  while  life  lasts ! "  he  said  exult- 
ingly,  and  the  great  scar  along  his  face  leaped 
into  light. 

"  And  then  ?  "  asked  Catherine,  choking  down 
the  tremor  in  her  tone,  and  speaking  because  it 
was  time  she  should  be  heard,  as  even  her  exalted 
mood  could  perceive,  and  although  it  were  in  that 
presence. 


200  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

"And  then  one  dust!  an  everlasting  sleep  in 
one  another's  arms !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  smile 
as  triumphant  as  a  sunburst. 

"  Thank  God!  "  she  said,  more  to  herself  than 
him.  "  It  never  could  have  been.  I  never  could 
have  cared  for  him !  "  and  her  involuntary  shud 
der  of  disgust  shook  even  the  chill  hand  she  held. 

"Stop!"  said  Gaston,  bending  forward,  and 
using  such  effort  at  control,  in  order  to  be  calm, 
that  it  seemed  to  him  it  was  turning  him  into 
iron.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  never  loved 
me?" 

"  Never !"  answered  Catherine,  firmly.  And  her 
face  flushed  crimson  and  then  grew  white  once 
more,  as  she  blushed  beneath  the  sting  of  such 
words  spoken  to  Beaudesfords'  wife.  u  Never !  I 
will  speak  the  truth,  though  it  is  here  and  now. 
Speak  it,"  she  said  solemnly,  "  because  it  is  here 
and  now;  as  if  this  heart,  on  which  I  lay  my 
hand,  were  God's  altar."  For  Catherine,  in  the 
suffering  of  the  night  before,  albeit  unconsciously, 
had  done  with  reserve.  In  reaching  her  right 
place  ;  in  recognizing  the  love  whose  silent  growth 
had  uprooted  the  noxious  parasite  and  weed ;  in 
remembering,  and  gladly  remembering,  that  she 
was  the  wife  of  Beaudesfords ;  in  seeing  now  that, 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  201 

though  the  bonds  of  flesh  dissolved,  the  marriage 
of  the  spirit  could  never  expire,  —  she  stood  upon 
a  plane  as  far  above  this  man  and  his  words  as 
heaven  is  above  the  earth.  She  had  sinned  in 
soul,  but  she  had  struggled ;  she  had  overcome ; 
and  he  had  only  tempted.  "  If  ever  any  delirium 
disturbed  my  fancy,"  she  said,  "  I  saw  it  —  long 
before  this  horror  happened, —  saw  it  for  a  de 
lirium,  detested  it,  escaped  it.  I  escaped  it.  I 
have  never  loved  —  I  know  it  now  —  I  have  never 
loved  any  one  but  him,  my  husband, — so  lofty,  so 
generous,  so  brave,  so  good,  so  pure !  Oh,  Beau- 
desfords,  what  is  death  between  us  ?  "  she  cried, 
forgetting  Gaston's  existence  then.  "  You  waited 
for  me  so  long,  surely  we  can  wait  a  little  longer ! 
Married  for  the  moment  only  here  ?  oh,  it  were 
sacrilege,  with  all  eternity  to  be  happy  in !  Near 
er,  nearer  now  than  we  ever  were  before,  our  love 
hallowed  in  heaven  as  it  never  was  on  earth,  — 
not  death,  not  fate,  can  separate  us,  —  we  are 
one!  I  shall  hear  and  know  and  feel  you  in 
every  breath  I  draw,  in  every  thought,  in  every 
pulse, —  summer  mornings  will  seem  to  bring 
you  back  to  me,  —  no  night  will  be  too  high,  with 
its  heaven  full  of  stars,  for  me  to  find  you,  —  for 
oh !  •  I  love  you,  Beaudesfords !  Beaudesfords,  I 
love  you ! " 

J  9* 


202  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

"  Stop ! "  exclaimed  Gaston  again.  He  shut 
his  teeth  together  a  moment,  as  he  listened,  and 
writhed  in  strange  torture.  If  this  were  Cathe 
rine,  he  could  not  then  resist  the  impression  that 
he  was  another  than  himself.  "  And  yet  it  was 
your  hand,"  said  he  in  a  voice  that  she  had  never 
heard  before,  "  your  hand  that  prepared  the  way 
— that  set  us  free  —  that  opened  for  us  both,  last 
night,  a  path  to  paradise !  Your  hand  that  did 
this"  — 

"  What ! "  murmured  Catherine,  in  an  awe 
struck  whisper,  losing  thought  for  the  instant  even 
of  Beaudesfords' loss.  "Do  you"  — 

Gaston  pointed  at  the  sleeper  in  his  bed.  His 
gesture  denied  the  need  of  words. 

For  a  moment  she  returned  his  gaze,  speech 
less,  with  a  kind  of  faint  sickness.  Not  at  the 
accusation ;  for  the  remembrance  of  the  gar 
dener's  words  in  the  morning,  which  she  had 
disregarded  and  forgotten,  had  rushed  over  her, 
and  been  spurned.  "  And  is  it  possible,  then," 
she  said,  "  that  you  can  believe,  can  entertain  — 
you  —  Gaston  —  his  friend  —  Oh,  you  betrayed 
him !  But  can  you  think  that  I,  his  wife  —  that 
for  the  sake  of  any  lawless  love,  though  it  were 
an  archangel's,  I  could  take  my  husband's  life  ?  " 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  203 

"  Which  you  did,"  he  said. 

"  And  if  I  did,  —  which,  0  my  God !  declare  to 
be  the  lie  it  is  !  —  is  any  man  so  base  as,  know 
ing  her,  to  take  to  his  arms  that  adulteress  in 
desire,  that  murderess  in  deed !  Oh,  go,  go,  go ! 
leave  such  a  place  as  this !  "  she  commanded,  in 
that  hushed,  clear  tone  of  hers.  "  Oh  that  his 
last  rest  should  be  profaned  by  words  like  these ! " 
and  suddenly  she  faced  him  with  "her  appalling 
whiteness  and  fire.  "  Go  from  the  room !  "  she 
said.  "  Your  presence  is  an  insult  to  his  ashes. 
Should  you  meet  him  in  the  world  to  come,  one 
glance  of  his  pure  eye  must  needs  annihilate 
you.  Beneath  contempt.  Too  low  for  hatred. 
Nothing!  —  Oh,  Beaudesfords,  come  back,  come 
back ! "  she  cried,  as  Gaston  tottered  off,  like  one 
who  has  been  struck,  from  where  he  had  ap 
proached  her.  "  Do  not  leave  me  in  this  cruel 
world  alone!  Come  back,  or  take  me  with 
you,  Beaudesfords,  my  own ! "  And  she  fell 
upon  her  knees,  hiding  her  head  against  his  cold 
heart,  and  wetting  it  with  torrents  of  hot  tears, 
the  first  tears  she  had  shed,  creeping  up  to  lay 
her  mouth  on  his  lips,  pouring  between  them 
the  warm  breath  of  her  breast,  that  labored  on 
his  with  sobs. 


204  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

While  the  silence  in  the  room  was  broken  by 
nothing  but  those  sobs,  and  Gaston  towered 
there,  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  as  immovable  and 
rigid  as  if  he  had  been  cast  in  bronze,  there  were 
voices  in  the  garden.  It  was  the  voice  of  Rose, 
who,  while  the  other  women  had  hidden  them 
selves  away  with  their  grief,  had  been  unable  to 
follow  them,  but  still  hovered  round  the  spot, 
now  wringing  her  hands  in  a  bewilderment  of 
terror,  now  blind  with  bursts  of  weeping.  She 
had  gone  down  the  garden,  gathering,  as  she 
went,  an  armful  of  the  great  day-lilies,  hardly 
knowing  what  she  did,  connecting  them  with  a 
vague  idea  of  that  sacred  chamber,  and  adding 
her  heavy  tears  to  the  dew,  of  which  the  sun  had 
not  yet  robbed  their  white  and  gold  lustrousness. 
And  then  she  had  waited  at  the  lower  paling, 
quivering  with  hope  and  fear,  and  comprehending 
that  Dr.  Ruthven's  hasty  departure,  after  his 
orders  to  Frye  to  have  the  cordials  at  hand,  and 
the  hot  flannels  and  ammonia  and  strong  spirits 
ready  for  renewed  effort,  meant  quick  return  and 
mighty  possibilities.  And  suddenly  she  had  cried 
out,  as  she  saw  him  leap  from  his  saddle  at  the 
nearest  gate,  —  saw  through  her  wet  eyes  not  one, 
but  twenty  Dr.  Ruthvens,  with  as  many  parcels 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  205 

in  as  many  arms,  darting  up  the  path,  and  never 
pausing  at  her  ejaculation. 

Perhaps  the  old  Doctor  was  thinking  within 
himself  that,  if  all  Nature  took  the  disastrous 
thing  so  sweetly,  if  the  garden  that  Beaudesfords 
had  tended  still  blushed  as  brightly,  the  flowers 
bloomed,  the  winds,  the  skies,  were  just  as  fresh 
and  fair,  it  must  be  because  they  were  in  the 
secret  of  God,  and  knew  this  thing  that  we  call 
death  to  be  no  such  blot  upon  the  universe  at  all. 
But  he  was  aware  of  thinking  of  nothing  save 
that  one  moment's  delay  was  ruin. 

"  It 's  the  last  resort ! "  he  cried,  hurrying  on 
without  staying,  and  not  glancing  at  her  enough 
to  notice  the  eagerness  that  sparkled  through  her 
weeping  eyes.  "  It 's  our  dear  boy's  last  chance. 
I  couldn't  trust  any  of  the  blundering  idiots, 
after  I  had  sent  them  for  it:  but  if  I  can  get 
some  cordial  into  his  stomach  with  this  tube  now, 
and  then  apply  the  battery,  —  such  things  are 
possible,"  he  mumbled  defiantly  to  himself,  as  he 
went,  while  Rose  hung  breathless  on  his  words. 
"Faint  with  loss  of  blood, — suspended  anima 
tion, —  'twouldn't  be  the  first  instance,  —  Boer- 
haave  gives  a  case  of  six  hours.  The  battery  '11 
do  no  harm!" 


206  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

"  Oh,  Doctor ! "  Rose  began  again,  as  well  as 
she  could  for  crying.  "  I  've  been  standing  on 
fire.  It  doesn't  seem  like  death  in  there,  for  I 
looked  in,  and  Gaston  was  the  only  dreadful 
thing  to  see.  And  Mrs.  Grey  —  oh,  Doctor! 
Mrs.  Grey  just  told  me  how  he  had  a  fall  years 
and  years  ago,  and  bled  so  "  — 

"  Good  God,  and  I  forgot  it !  Oh,  I  'm  an  old 
man !  And  he  lying  like  death  then  for  hours. 
Don't  lose  a  breath ! "  exclaimed  Dr.  Ruthven, 
springing  forward  as  though  he  were  twenty  years 
younger,  though  you  would  have  said  he  could 
move  no  faster  than  he  was  already  moving. 
"  Frye  !  Where's  Frye  ?  Help  me  here !  Every 
thing  at  hand  ?  Don't  let  us  have  any  false 
alarm.  Quiet,  quiet!  But  Heaven  grant "  — 

And  suddenly  Catherine  sprung  to  her  feet. 
"  Call  Ruthven  ! "  she  almost  shrieked.  "  Send 
for  him !  Bring  him !  "  And  just  at  that  moment 
the  casement's  blind  flew  open,  and  the  flood 
of  glad  light  fell  in  and  overlay  the  flame  of  her 
scarlet  cheeks,  and  spread  around  her  head  like  a 
glory.  "Oh,  come  here  !  come  here  !  "  she  said, 
as  Dr.  Ruthven  himself  hastened  through  from 
the  garden.  "  His  heart  beats  !  it  beats  beneath 
my  hand !  oh,  it  beats,  I  tell  you !  and  he  breathes, 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  207 

he  breathes,  I  felt  him !  Oh,  Beaudesfords,  you 
are  not  dead !  Speak  to  me,  —  look  at  me  !  " 

Dr.  Ruthven  came  up  behind  her  while  she 
clung  there,  and  took  her  like  a  child,  and  seated 
her  in  a  great  sleepy-hollow  of  an  arm-chair. 
"  Let  no  one  speak  in  this  room  again  while  Death 
and  I  wrestle,"  his  manner  said,  but  he  uttered 
not  a  word ;  for  he  had  straightway  forgotten 
every  thing  in  that  physiological  passion  that  lit 
up  for  him  the  dark  places  where  matter  and 
spirit  antagonize,  yet  join,  as  he  strove  to  kindle 
the  blood  once  more,  to  renew  the  breath,  and, 
charging  the  battery  along  the  whole  course  of 
the  nerves,  to  strike  them  into  action,  till  one 
wheel  catching  on  another  the  entire  machinery 
should  be  in  motion  with  that  life  which  Bichat 
asserted  to  be,  after  all,  only  the  totality  of  the 
functions ! 

You  might  as  well  ask  the  great  angels  who 
watched  the  Almighty  hands  fashion  that  red 
clay  upon  Aornos,  when  the  first  man  entered  into 
the  sacrament  of  life,  as  have  asked  Catherine 
what  took  place  in  the  long  hour  that  followed 
Dr.  Ruthven's  return.  It  always  seemed  to  her 
as  if  she  had  entered,  during  that  time,  into 
the  secrets  of  eternity;  as  if  she  had  herself 


208  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

been  newly  baptized  from  the  fountain  and  source 
of  being ;  as  if  she  had  been  a  witness  of  some 
awful  rite  of  preternatural  powers,  and  had  seen 
behind  the  hollow  masks  of  life  and  death  the 
form  of  indestructible  spirit ;  as  if  she  had  been 
shown  the  hidden  mysteries  of  creation,  and  God 
had  led  her  by  the  hand  out  of  darkness  into  light. 
She  was  never  exactly  the  same  woman,  —  she 
had  watched  a  soul  come  back  from  the  vast 
shadowy  brink,  and  seize  its  body.  Some  strong, 
crystallic  current,  too,  had  changed  her  from  an 
amorphous  existence  into  the  perfect  jewel,  so 
to  say.  There  was  always  something  sweetly 
solemn  in  her  face  in  those  after-days :  hap 
piness  had  been  purchased  at  a  price  that  ren 
dered  it  too  costly  for  any  thing  but  serious  and 
conscious  use.  She  never  felt  that  she  could 
afford  to  be  happy  in  the  irresponsible  way  which 
belonged  to  the  birds  and  breezes  and  Rose. 

But  now,  when  at  last  a  long  tremble  vibrated 
through  Beaudesfords'  frame,  when  a  shiver  shook 
his  ashy  lips,  when  the  blood  rushed  into  them 
and  left  them  again,  when  the  great,  gleaming 
eyes  opened  bewilderedly  a  moment,  closed,  and 
then  lifted  again,  and  lay  resting  on  the  blue 
splendor  of  Catherine's,  she  believed  heaven  had 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  209 

descended  into  the  room,  that  the  Lord  of  Life 
was  working  miracles  there ;  and  she  stood  trans 
fixed,  just  as  she  had  sprung  forward  with  her 
clasped  hands,  and  seeming  to  receive  her  own 
existence  only  from  that  smile  which,  from  its 
faint  beginning,  grew  and  overspread  the  face 
of  Beaudesfords  with  the  old  brilliance  and  beauty 
of  earthly  life. 

They  neither  felt  nor  remembered,  for  the  while, 
the  presence  of  any  other  than  themselves  in  the 
place :  for  him,  the  shadow  of  the  grave  slowly 
drawing  off  still  obscured  all  but  her ;  for  her, 
all  being,  all  identity  of  others,  was  lost  in  the 
light  of  Beaudesfords'  gaze,  as  sunlight  drowns 
the  stars.  They  knew  the  meaning  in  each 
other's  soul  as  their  eyes  hung  there :  he  read 
her  love,  her  confession,  her  prayer;  she  heard 
his  answer  ere  the  prayer  was  spoken.  His  lips 
were  murmuring.  "  Come  to  me,"  he  tried  to 
say.  She  was  there,  sobbing  out,  "  Oh,  Beau 
desfords,  I  am  not  fit  to  touch  you  !  "  hiding  her 
face  beside  his,  silent  and  breathless  then,  while 
he  whispered :  "  I  could  not  move,  I  could  not 
stir,  —  the  weight  of  my  grave  was  on  my  breast. 
But  I  heard  it  all,  —  all  you  said  to  him.  I 
should  never  have  come  back  to  life,  —  had  it 


210  THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

been  different,  —  had  you  not  made  such  pulses 
leap, — had  you  not  proved  your  faith  to  me, — 
had  you  not  set  my  heart  beating  to  yours,  —  oh, 
Catherine,  my  wife !  " 

NQ  one  heard  them.  Dr.  Ruthven  was  crying 
aloud,  without  a  qualm.  Frye,  faint  with  joy 
and  fear,  and  his  exertions  in  behalf  of  the  mas 
ter  he  had  served  from  a  child,  had  sunk  upon 
the  floor.  Only  Gaston  looked  at  them,  with  a 
wild  and  burning  look. 

Not  enough  strength  had  returned  to  Beaudes- 
fords  to  let  him  move  his  head.  But,  as  if  that 
look  compelled  them,  his  eyes  wandered  round 
and  rested  now  on  Gaston's.  Wide  and  fervid 
eyes,  full  of  fevered  light,  large  drops  of  lustre, — 
they  surveyed  him ;  and  their  recognition  was  as 
blasting  as  the  recognition  of  the  judgment-day. 
No  smile  upon  the  lips,  no  softness  on  the  brow, 
no  woman-like  reproach,  no  sorrowing  loss,  only 
that  great,  grave  gaze  that  took  the  measure 
of  the  man's  perfidy.  It  was  the  last  blow,  —  the 
blow  that  Gaston  could  not  bear.  He  had  met 
much  that  morning.  The  shock  when  Beaudes- 
fords'  death  was  announced  seemed  to  have  re 
versed  the  currents  of  his  blood.  His  head  had 
whirled  when  he  so  suddenly  found  Catherine 


THE   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT.  211 

free.  His  temples  had  been  beating  like  trip 
hammers  ever  since  his  self-assurance  that  the 
deed  was  hers,  ever  since  he  felt  that,  despite 
crime  or  shamelessness,  his  passion  was  the  same, 
as  dear  and  dearer.  He  had  believed  her  hand 
red  with  guilt,  and  found  it  stainless.  He  had 
believed  that  Catherine's  kisses  were  ripe  for  his 
gathering,  —  remembering,  with  long,  piercing 
thrills,  one  night  beneath  the  starlit  shadows 
of  the  swinging  tree-branches,  the  lips  that  bent, 
the  lips  that  rose :  an  innocent  night  of  a  youth 
too  long  fled  to  be  condemned,  —  and  he  had 
seen  those  kisses  showered  upon  another  man,  a 
dead  man.  He  had  seen  that  dead  man  speak 
and  gaze  —  Great  God !  how  dead  men  gaze !  He 
raised  his  hand  to  his  head  in  a  distracted  way,  — 
could  he  never  rid  himself  of  that  stare  ?  Must 
it  hang  there  for  ever  before  him,  like  a  dazzling 
sun  obliterating  all  the  rest  of  the  world  ?  A 
slow  tear  gathered  in  Beaudesfords'  eye.  Gaston 
recalled  vacantly,  as  he  saw  it*,  that  the  dead 
never  weep,  nor  yet  the  dying.  Just  as  vacantly, 
too,  he  recalled  the  fact  of  those  glass  spheres,  in 
whicK  an  imprisoned  drop  of  water  changes  and 
sublimes  and  swells  to  scalding  vapor,  till  it 
bursts  and  shatters  its  shell  to  atoms ;  and  in  a 


212  THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

spasm  of  suffering  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  that 
tear  were  something  bursting  in  his  own  brain. 
He  turned  away,  as  the  pain  passed,  with  a  low, 
idiotic  laugh,  no  longer  a  man,  but  a  maniac. 

When,  by  and  by,  Beaudesfords  went  about  the 
place  again,  a  harmless  creature  followed  him 
like  a  hound,  never  happy  out  of  his  sight,  —  one 
who  had  forgotten  his  own  name,  and  remembered 
nothing  but  Beaudesfords'.  If  Catherine  needed 
a  punishment  and  a  humiliation,  she  had  it  ever 
before  her.  They  kept  the  forlorn  wretch  with 
them ;  Dr.  Ruthven  giving  him  especial  care 
from  day  to  day.  The  western  wing  was  still 
his  domicile  when  he  needed  quiet,  but  at  all 
times  he  was  a  member  of  the  household ;  and, 
though  strong  servants  waited  on  him  in  his  own 
apartments,  he  never  needed  other  restraint  than 
a  pleasant  word  of  Beaudesfords'.  He  knew  none 
but  gentle  influences,  sweet  faces,  the  music  of 
soft  voices.  He  sailed  with  them  upon  the  river, 
he  hunted  with  Beaudesfords  through  the  fields 
and  woods.  One  day,  when  Beaudesfords  had 
fallen  upon  his  gun  in  vaulting  across  a  hedge, 
lying  for  the  moment  quite  still  and  faint,  and 
had  then  suddenly  opened  his  eyes,  this  follower, 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT.  213 

who  had  stood  gazing  at  him,  began  to  quiver  from 
head  to  foot,  and  fell  down  before  him,  calling  out 
for  his  forgiveness  and  mercy,  —  taking  up  his 
thread  of  life  where  he  had  lost  it,  in  that  wonder 
ing  look  of  Beaudesfords'  clear  eyes, — and  Gaston 
was  himself  again,  himself  with  a  mighty  change, 
— the  dross  was  gone.  And  in  the  long  hours  of 
that  noon,  as  they  sat  there,  the  two  friends,  lov 
ing  each  other  with  a  love  passing  that  of  woman, 
made  all  bright  between  them.  Thus  a  fleet 
season  sped,  and  Gaston  was  a  reasonable  man 
once  more :  one  atom  too  noble  and  too  nobly 
trusted  to  cherish  any  sentiment  of  ill-will  or  any 
thing  but  veneration  towards  the  woman  who 
once  swayed  soul  and  sense  alike,  —  a  strange 
being,  with  his  dark,  scarred  face  and  iron-gray 
head  ;  a  man  with  all  his  youthful  fires  and  furies 
burned  out  of  him,  content  enough  with  fate,  and 
thankful  for  the  sunshine  that  fell  on  him  as  he 
sat  in  the  garden  at  Beaudesfords.  One  person, 
though,  never  ceased  to  observe  him ;  for  McRoy, 
the  gardener,  when  he.  relieved  his  mistress  of 
his  suspicions,  was  nevertheless  unable  to  believe 
Beaudesfords,  as  the  latter  assured  him,  that, 
being  ill  and  with  a  disordered  mind,  which  was 
certainly  no  more  than  the  truth,  he  had  inflicted 


214  THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

the  wound  with  his  own  hand.  He  could  not 
find  it  in  his  heart  to  credit  the  statement ;  and, 
as  long  as  his  lamp  of  life  held  out  to  burn,  he 
would  have  turned  its  vigilant  ray  on  Gaston, 
had  not  Gaston  hindered  such  necessity  when  his 
old  ambitions  began  to  throb,  as  they  did  before 
that  dream  of  passion  clouded  his  days ;  and, 
drawn  by  the  subsidence  of  revolution  on  his 
former  field  of  action,  he  departed  for  the  tropical 
regions,  where  he  is  still  at  work  with  a  scheme 
as  grand  as  the  mountains  he  shall  pierce  and 
the  seas  he  shall  unite ;  while  McRoy's  inspection 
is  turned  over  to  the  purlieus  of  the  garden  and 
the  sparrows. 

That  garden  at  Beaudesfords  is  still  more 
beautiful  than,  any  painted  scene  of  a  fairy 
spectacle.  It  is  no  wonder  that  Gaston  loved 
his  chair  and  cigar  there ;  that  Mrs.  Stanhope's 
netting  and  Caroline's  sofa  are  as  much  a  part 
of  it  as  the  standards  and  the  annuals ;  that  the 
family  fairly  live  there  the  livelong  summer 
through.  The  broad  beds  of  geranium  still  blos 
som  in  it  like  flames  of  sunrise  fallen  on  the  grass ; 
the  fragrant  flower-fence  spices  the  air  all  day; 
the  roses  revel  together,  and  climb  the  trellis,  and 
look  back  with  blushing  faces  where  the  bees  are 


THE   THIEF   IN  THE  NIGHT.  215 

swinging  in  the  great  blue-bells  of  the  campanula ; 
the  sun-soaked  cedarn  alleys  are  still  leading 
away  into  misty  shadow ;  the  wind  is  still  ravish 
ing  every  bud  of  its  odors ;  the  Triton  is  still 
blowing  the  sparkling  water-streams  from  his 
horn,  rocking  the  pickerel-weed  and  arrowhead 
and  golden  lilies  on  the  ripple  that  he  makes ; 
birds  are  twittering,  leaves  are  rustling,  a  woman 
is  singing :  — 

"  The  winds  in  the  reeds  and  rushes, 
The  bees  on  the  bells  of  thyme, 

The  birds  on  the  myrtle-bushes, 
The  cicale  above  in  the  lime, 

And  the  lizards  below  in  the  grass, 

Were  as  silent  as  ever  old  Tmolus  was 

Listening  to  my  sweet  pipings." 

But  sweeter  music  still  than  breezes  make  or 
bird-song  chirrups  through  the  place :  it  comes 
from  where  a  golden-haired  urchin  sits  upon  the 
edgestone  of  the  shallow  lake,  fishing  with  a  pin, 
and  soaking  his  bits  of  shoes  into  a  pulp ;  it 
comes  from  where  Beaudesfords  strolls  up  the 
path  with  a  couple  of  cherubs  on  his  shoulders, — 
lovely,  laughing,  rosy  things,  whose  voices  are 
the  most  delightful  melody,  as  they  shower  their 
little  handfuls  of  blossoms  on  the  mother,  who  sits 
in  her  low  garden-seat  among  the  violets,  where 


216  THE   THIEF  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

presently  they  are  tumbled,  or  as  they  pretend 
a  tuneful  fright  of  the  dark-eyed,  peach-bloomed 
little  woman  that  frolics  round  them. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Beaudesfords  to  his  wife, 
on  the  evening  of  one  of  these  summer  days,  after 
the  garden  was  still  from  the  joyance  and  music 
of  these  voices,  — "  do  you  know  that,  though 
this  happiness  is  so  deep,  so  real,  so  intense,  it  is 
a  very  different  thing  from  my  old  ideal  of  happi 
ness  ?  I  have  grown  so  still,  — J  think  that  that 
time  I  died  I  must  have  been  made  over." 

"  It  is  not  that  you  are  more  still,"  said  Cathe 
rine,  "  but  only  that  you  are  at  rest." 

"  Yet  there  is  no  buoyancy  left  in  me :  my 
bubble  is  all  from  the  outside.  If  you  were  not 
at  my  hand,  if  these  little  airy  creatures  dropped 
me,  I  should  sink."  Without,  the  summer  stars 
were  trembling  in  the  warm  and  rushing  wind ; 
within,  the  soft,  low  breathing  from  the  room  be 
yond  seemed  to  rise  and  fall  with  the  beating  of 
their  own  hearts.  You  could  not  hear  that  regu 
lar,  sweet  sound  without  seeing  the  picture  of  the 
rosy  little  faces  bathed  in  their  dewy  sleep.  "  Lis 
ten,"  said  Beaudesfords,  "  while  we  look  out  on 
this  infinity  that  almost  tempts  one  away,  listen 
to  the  murmurings  of  our  anchorage  on  earth. 


THE  THIEF  IN  THE   NIGHT.  217 

What  contradictions  we  have  in  us,  —  set  in  such 
perfect  peace,  so  slight  a  thing  may  break  it, 
—  after  all,  it  makes  me  tremble!" 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered  him.  "  You  and  I 
have  been  through  the  Valley  of  Death,  —  there 
was  nothing  there  to  tremble  at.  We  can  trust 
our  future  and  our  darlings  in  the  hand  that  has 
been  so  tender  with  our  past." 

"  Let  us  go  and  look  at  them,"  said  Beaudes- 
fords.  And,  kneeling  beside  the  little  beds,  they 
thanked  God  for  their  lot,  and,  while  the  seasons 
pa^s  and  old  age  comes,  for  the  perpetual  youth 
in  life  which  children  bring. 


10 


Cambridge:  Press  of  John  Wilson  and  Son. 


ARTHUR  HELPS'S  WRITINGS. 

1.  REALMAH.     A  Story.     Price  $2.00. 

2.  CASIMIR  MAREMMA.     A  Novel.     Price  $2.00. 

*.  COMPANIONS   OF  MY   SOLITUDE.     Price  $1.50. 

4.  ESSAYS  WRITTEN  IN  THE  INTERVALS  OF  BUS 

INESS-     Price  $1.50. 

5.  BREVIA     Short  Essays  and  Aphorisms.     Price  $1.50. 

From  the  London  Review. 

"The  tale  (REALMAH)  is  a  comparatively  brief  one,  intersected  by  the 
conversations  of  a  variety  of  able  personages,  with  most  of  whose  names 
and  characters  we  are  already  familiar  through  '  Friends  in  Council.' 
Looking  at  it  in  connection  with  the  social  and  political  lessons  that  are 
wrapt  up  in  it,  we  may  fairly  attribute  to  it  a  higher  value  than  could  pos 
sibly  attach  to  a  common  piece  of  riction." 

From  a  Notice  by  Miss  E.  M.  Converse. 

"There  are  many  reasons  why  we  like  this  irregular  book  (Rcalmah),  in 
which  we  should  find  the  dialogue  tedious  without  the  story ;  the  story  dull 
without  the  dialogue;  and  the  whole  unmeaning,  unless  we  discerned  the 
purpose  of  the  author  underlying  the  lines,  and  interweaving,  now  here, 
now  there,  a  criticism,  a  suggestion,  an  aphorism;  a  quaint  illustration,  an 
exhortation,  a  metaphysical  deduction,  or  a  moral  inference. 

"  We  like  a  book  in  which  we  are  not  bound  to  read  consecutively,  whose 
leaves  we  can  turn  at  pleasure  and  find  on  every  page  something  to  amuse, 
interest,  and  instruct.  It  is  like  a  charming  walk  in  the  woods  in  early 
summer,  where  we  are  attracted  now  to  a  lowly  flower  half  hidden  under 
soft  moss ;  now  to  a  shrub  brilliant  with  showy  blossoms ;  now  to  the  gran 
deur  of  a  spreading  tree;  now  to  a  bit  o*"  fleecy  cloud;  and  now  to  the  blue 
of  the  overarching  sky. 

"We  gladly  place  '  Realmah '  on  the  '  book-lined  wall,' by  the  side  of 
other  chosen  friends,  —  the  sharp,  terse  sayings  of  the  '  Doctor ';  the  sug 
gestive  utterances  of  the  '  Noctes  ';  the  sparkling  and  brilliant  thoughts  of 
'Montaigne ';  and  the  gentle  teachings  of  the  charming  '  Elia.'" 
From  a  Notice  by  Miss  H.  W.  Preston. 

"  It  must  be  because  the  reading  world  is  unregenerate  that  Arthur  Helps 
is  not  a  general  favorite.  Somebody  once  said  (was  it  Ruskin,  at  whose 
imperious  order  so  many  of  us  read  '  Friends  in  Council,'  a  dozen  years 
ago?)  that  appreciation  of  Helps  is  a  sure  test  of  culture.  Not  so  much 
that,  one  may  suggest,  as  of  a  certain  native  fineness  and  excellence  of 
mind.  The  impression  prevails  among  some  of  those  who  do  net  read  him, 
that  Helps  is  a  hard  writer.  Nothing  could  be  more  erroneous.  His  man 
ner  is  simplicity  itself;  his  speech  always  winning,  and  of  a  silvery  dis 
tinctness.  There  are  hosts  of  ravenous  readers,  lively  and  capable,  who, 
if  their  vague  prejudice  were  removed,  would  exceedingly  enjoy  the  gentle 
wit,  the  unassuming  wisdom,  and  the  refreshing  originality  of  the  author 
in  question.  There  are  men  and  women,  mostly  young,  with  souls  that 
sometimes  weary  of  the  eerials,  who  need  nothing  so  mucn  as  a  persuasive 
guide  to  the  study  of  worthier  and  more  enduring  literature.  For  most  of 
those  who  read  novels  with  avidity  are  capable  of  reading  something  else 
with  avidity,  if  they  only  knew  it.  And  such  a  guide,  and  pleasantest  of  all 
such  guides,  is  Arthur  Helps.  *  *  Yet 'Casinrir  Maremma' is  a  charming 
book,  and,  better  still,  invigorating.  Try  it.  You  are  going  into  the  country 
for  the  summer  months  that  remain.  Have  '  Casimir '  with  you,  and  have 
'  Realmah,'  too.  The  former  is  the  pleasanter  book,  the  latter  the  more  pow 
erful.  But  if  you  like  one  you  will  like  the  other.  At  the  least  you  will  rise 
from  their  perusal  with  a  grateful  sense  of  having  been  received  for  a  time 
into  a  select  and  happy  circle,  where  intellectual  breeding  is  perfect,  and  the 
struggle  for  brilliancy  unknown. 

Sold  everywhere.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  adver 
tised  price,  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  BOSTOK. 


By  the  Author  of  "Happy  Thoughts." 


MORE    HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

By  F.  C.  BUENAXD.  One  volume.  Uniform  with  "Happy 
Thoughts."  Price  $1.00. 

"  We  want  to  read  Mr.  Burnand's  book  when  we  are  en  rapport  with 
the  author.  If  we  are  bothered  in  mind,  or  uncomfortable  in  feeling,  we 
can  hardly  appreciate  justly  the  wit  and  humor  of  these  happy  thoughts ; 
but,  if  the  mood  is  pleasant,  we  shall  find  them  diverting  and  laugh-pro 
voking  beyond  measure.  Their  wit  is  a  peculiar  wit,  breaking  out  here 
and  there  in  little  jets,  and  manifesting  itself  in  unexpected  spasms;  and 
their  humor  is  something  suggested  rather  than  expressed :  yet  we  cannot 
help  sympathizing  with  the  genial  spirit  of  the  volume.  In  every  page  to 
which  we  open,  we  find  some  fancy  or  thought  to  entertain  and  delight  us, 
and  something  to  touch  our  best  nature ;  and  we  like  the  book,  if  it  is  not 
as  solid  as  a  history  or  a  treatise  on  science."— Providence  Journal. 


OUT    OF   TOWN. 

By  F.  C.  BURN  AND.  One  volume.  16mo.  Uniform  with 
"  Happy  Thoughts."  Price  $1.25. 

This  is  a  very  humorous  story  of  a  continental  tour,  and  includes  also 
a  burlesque  description  of  "Bradshaw's  Guide." 

HAPPY   THOUGHT   HALL. 

By  F.  C.  BURNAXD.  With  One  Hundred  Illustrations  by  the 
Author.  One  volume.  Square  octavo.  Cloth,  neat.  Price  $4.00. 

The  author  continues  in  this  book  his  "  Happy  Thought "  vein,  with 
illustrated  descriptions  of  his  characters  and  of  his  new  country-house, 
"  Happy  Thought  Hall." 

Mailed,  postpaid,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,    Boston. 


THE  HANDY  VOLUME  SERIES. 

MESSRS.  ROBERTS  BROTHERS  propose  to  issue,  under  the  above 
heading,  a  Series  of  Handy  Volumes,  which  shall  be  at  once  various 
valuable,  and  popular,  —  their  size  a  ino-t  convenient  one.  their  typogra 
phy  of  the  very  best,  and  their  price  extremely  low.  They  will  enter 
tain  the  reader  with  poetry  as  well  as  with  prose;  now  with  fiction,  then 
with  fact;  herewith  narration,  there  with  inquiry;  in  some  cases  with 
the  works  of  living  authors,  in  others  with  the  works  of  those  long  since 
dead.  It  is  hoped  that  they  will  prove  to  be  either  amusing  or  instruc 
tive,  sometimes  curious,  often  valuable,  always  naudy.  Each  Volum* 
will,  as  a  rule,  form  a  work  complete  in  itself. 

THE   HANDY    VOLUME    SERIES. 
l. 

HAPPY  THOUGHTS.    By  F.  C.  BURNAND.     Price  in  cloth. 

$1.00;  paper  covers,  75  cents. 

2. 
DOCTOR  JACOB.    A  Novel.    By  Miss  M.  BETHAM  EDWARDS 

Price  in  cloth,  $1.00;  paper  covers,  75  cents. 

3. 

PLANCHETTE;  or,  The  Despair  of  Science.  Being  a  full 
account  of  Modern  Spiritualism.  Price  in  cloth,  $1.25;  paper 
covers,  $1.00. 

EDELWEISS.  A  Story.  By  BERTHOLD  AUERBACH.  Price 
in  cloth,  $1.00;  paper  covers,  75  cents. 

5. 

REALITIES  OF  IRISH  LIFE.  By  W.  STEUART  FRENCH. 
Price  in  cloth,  $1.00;  paper  covers,  75  cents. 

6. 

POEMS  OF  RURAL  LIFE.  By  WILLIAM  BARNES.  With 
12  superb  illustrations.  Price  in  cloth,  $1  25. 

7. 
GERMAN  TALES.    By  BERTHOLD  AUERBACH.    Price  in  cloth, 

$1.00. 

8. 

A  VISIT  TO  MY  DISCONTENTED  COUSIN.  A  Novelette. 
Price  in  cloth,  $1.00. 

9. 
MORE  HAPPY  THOUGHTS.    By  F.  C.  BURNAND.    Price  in 

Cloth,  $1.00. 

Other  volumes  mil  follow  the  above  at  convenient  intervals. 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS,  BOSTON. 


THE    WRITINGS 


OF 


JEAN      INGELOW. 


LIBRARY  EDITION.    2  vols.  i6mo.     Price     .......  $3.a 

BLUE  AND  GOLD  EDITION.    2  vols.  32010.    Price      ....    2.5* 

CABINET  EDITION,     i  vol.  iSmo.    Price  ........    2.2: 

ILLUSTRATED  EDITION.    Square  Svo.    Price    ......  IO.CK 

This  superb  volume,  acknowledged  to  be  the  best  specimen  of  woodcut  illus 
trating  ever  attempted,  comprises  the  first  volume  only  of  Miss  INGELOW'S  Poems, 
and  is  embellished  with  one  hundred  designs. 

SONGS  OF  SEVEN.     Illustrated,     i  royal  Svo  volume.     Price    2-5( 
SONGS  OF  SEVEN.    Cheap  illustrated  edition.     i6mo.    Illu 

minated  paper  cover.    Price  20  cents  ;  cloth,  neat,  price      o.3< 

fftiss  Sttffclofo's  Nefo  ^oems 

THE  MONITIONS  OF  THE  UNSEEN,  AND  POEMS  OF  LOVE 
AND  CHILDHOOD.  With  12  superb  illustrations.  I  vol. 
i6mo.  Cloth,  neat.  Price  ...........  i.$c 


STUDIES  FOR  STORIES,  FROM  GIRLS'  LIVES.     Price    ...       .2[ 

STORIES  TOLD  TO  A  CHILD.     Price     ..........  2j 

,,  ,,  ,,  ,,  Second  Series.     Price     ...       ,2\ 

A  SISTER'S  BYE-HOURS.     Price  .     .     .    •    ........  21 

MOPSA  THE  FAIRY-    Price  ..............  i[ 

POOR  MATT;  or,  The  Clouded  Intellect.     Price  .....    o.6< 

These  editions  of  Miss  Ingelovfs  Poetical  and  Prose  Writing. 
are  the  only  authorized  American  Editions,  and  are  issued  wilt 
her  sanction,  by  her  Publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS, 

•    BOSTON 


MARGARET. 

By    SYLVESTER  JUDD.     One  volume.     Price  $1.50. 

SELECTIONS  FROM  SOME  NOTABLE  REVIEWS. 

From  the  Southern  Quarterly  Review. 

"  This  book,  more  than  any  other  that  we  have  read,  leads  us  to  believe  in  the 
possibility  of  a  distinctive  American  Literature.  ...  It  bears  the  impress  of  New 
England  upon  all  its  features.  It  will  be  called  the  Yankee  novel,  and  rightly  ;  for 
nowhere  else  have  we  seen  the  thought,  dialect,  and  customs  of  a  New  England 
Village,  so  well  and  faithfully  represented.  .  .  .  More  significant  to  our  mind  than 
any  book  that  has  yet  appeared  in  our  country.  To  us  it  seems  to  be  a  prophecy 
of  the  future.  It  contemplates  the  tendencies  of  American  life  and  character. 
Nowhere  else  have  we  seen,  so  well  written  out,  the  very  feelings  which  our  rivers 
and  woods  and  mountains  are  calculated  to  awaken.  .  .  .  We  predict  the  time  when 
Margaret  will  be  one  of  the  Antiquary's  text-books.  It  contains  a  whole  magazine 
of  curious  relics  and  habits.  .  .  .  as  a  record  of  great  ideas  and  pure  sentiments,  w« 
place  it  among  the  few  great  books  of  the  age." 

From  the  North  A  merican  Review. 

"  We  know  not  where  any  could  go  to  find  more  exact  and  pleasing  descriptions 
of  the  scenery  of  New  England,  or  of  the  vegetable  and  animal  forms  which  give  it 
life.  ...  As  a  representation  of  manners  as  they  were,  and  in  many  respects  are 
still,  in  New  England,  this  book  is  of  great  value." 

From  the  London  Athenceum. 

"This  book,  though  published  some  time  since  in  America,  has  only  recently 
become  known  here  by  a  few  stray  copies  that  have  found  their  way  over.  Its 
leading  idea  is  so  well  worked  out,  that,  with  all  its  faults  of  detail,  it  strikes  us  as 
deserving  a  wider  circulation.  .  .  .  The  book  bears  the  impress  of  a  new  country, 
and  is  lull  of  rough,  uncivilized,  but  vigorous  life.  The  leading  idea  which  it  seems 
intended  to  expound  is,  that  the  surest  way  to  degrade  men  is  to  make  themselves 
degraded ;  that  so  long  as  that  belief  does  not  poison  the  sources  of  experience, 
' all  things' — even  the  sins,  follies,  mistakes,  so  rife  among  men  —  can  be  made 
'  to  work  together  for  good.'  This  doctrine,  startling  as  it  may  sound  at  first,  is 
wrought  out  with  a  fine  knowledge  of  human  nature." 

From  the  A  nti-Slavery  Standard. 

"  A  remarkable  book,  with  much  good  common  sense  in  it,  full  of  deep  thought, 
pervaded  throughout  with  strong  religious  feeling,  a  full  conception  of  the  essence  of 
Christianity,  a  tender  compassion  for  the  present  condition  of  man,  and  an  abiding 
hope  through  love  of  what  his  destiny  may  be.  .  .  .  But  all  who,  like  Margaret, 
'  dream  dreams,'  and  'see  visions,'  and  look  for  that  time  to  come  when  man  shall 
have  'worked  out  his  own  salvation,'  and  peace  shall  reign  on  earth,  and  good-will 
to  men,  will,  if  they  can  pardon  the  faults  of  the  book  for  its  merit,  read  it  with 
avidity  and  pleasure." 

From  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  This  is  quite  a  remarkable  book,  reminding  you  of  Southey's  '  Doctor,'  per 
haps,  more  than  of  any  other  book.  .  .  .  Margaret  is  a  most  angelic  being,  who 
loves  everybody  and  whom  everybody  loves,  and  whose  sweet  influence  is  felt 
wheiever  she  appears.  She  has  visions  of  ideal  beauty,  and  her  waking  eyes  see 
beauty  and  joy  in  every  thing." 

From  the  Christian  Register. 

"  This  is  a  remarkable  book.  Its  scene  is  laid  in  New  England,  and  its  period 
some  half  century  ago.  Its  materials  are  drawn  from  the  most  familiar  element.? 
of  every-day  life.  Its  merits  are  so  peculiar,  and  there  is  so  much  that  is  original 
and  rich  in  its  contents,  that,  sooner  or  later,  it  will  be  appreciated.  It  is  impossi 
ble  to  predict  with  assurance  the  fate  of  a  book,  but  we  shall  be  much  mistaken 
if  Margaret  does  not  in  due  season  work  its  way  to  a  degree  of  admiration  seldooa 
attained  by  a  work  of  its  class." 

Sold  everywhere.  Mailed^  prepaid,  on  receipt  of  pricc^ 
by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


GEORGE  SAND'S  NOVELS. 

MAUPRAT .' $1.50 

ANTONIA 1.50 

MONSIEUR    SYLVESTRE 1.50 

THE    SNOW   MAN 1.50 

THE    MILLER    OF    ANGIBAULT 1.50 


Front  the  Cleveland  Leader. 

Miss  Vaughan  has  shown  herself  to  be  perfectly  adapted  to  the  work  she  has  under 
taken.  We  search  in  vain  through  the  entire  list  of  translations  from  the  French, 
published  in  this  country  and  England,  for  a  volume  which  more  satisfactorily  reveals 
one's  remembrance  of  it  in  the  original  than  the  one  now  under  consideration.  Antonia 
is  not  one  of  the  great  works  of  its  authoress,  the  best  of  whose  fiction  is  to  our  mind 
the  most  consummate  romance  that  France  has  yet  produced ;  but  is  by  far  the  most 
elaborate  and  perfect  in  its  finish.  .  .  .  The  scene  is  principally  in  Paris,  the  Paris  of 
Louis  XVI.,  and  the  action  occurs  just  prior  to  the  French  Revolution.  The  hero  is 
a  poor  unknown  artist,  the  heroine  a  countess,  beautiful  and  exalted  in  station,  but, 
withal,  a  woman  of  the  purest  type-  The  beautiful  garden  which  encloses  the  home 
of  the  heroine  is  exquisitely  painted,  and  in  those  enchanted  shadows  there  is  portrayed 
the  birth  and  development  of  a  love  as  passionate  and  pure  as  ever  was  pictured  in 
romance.  .  .  .  Uncle  Antoine,  the  marplot  of  the  story,  is  strongly  and  admirably 
drawn  ;  and  the  Countess  and  Julien  Thierry  are  two  of  the  most  perfect  lovers  in  any 
literature.  The  tale  derives  its  name  from  that  of  a  rare  and  perfect  flower,  cultivated 
by  Uncle  Antoine  in  the  enchanted  garden,  and  whose  growth  and  blossoming  are 
woven  with  exquisite  art  into  the  development  of  the  story., 

John  G.  Saxe,  in  Albany  Evening  Journal. 

Undoubtedly  the  woman  who  by  her  writings  has  exerted  the  widest,  probably  the 
most  potent,  influence  upon  the  men  and  women  of  her  time,  is  she  who,  under  the  nom 
de  plume  of  "  George  Sand,"  has  given  to  the  world  in  her  own  sparkling  French 
tongue,  and,  through  translations,  in  almost  every  modern  language  which  lias  a  litera 
ture,  such  powerful  and  fascinating  works  as  "  Mauprat,"  "Antonia,"  and  a  host  of 
other  works,  the  very  names  of  which  suggest  by  their  number  a  fertility  and  industry 
almost  as  remarkable  as  the  extraordinary  genius  which  inspired  them.  For  many 
years  no  writer  was  so  little  understood,  or  rather,  so  thoroughly  misunderstood,  botfi 
in  England  and  America.  Not  unnaturally,  the  immorality,  the  flippancy,  the  persi 
flage,  of  most  contemporary  novelists  of  France,  were  attributed  to  the  writings  of 
Madame  Dudevant  by  people  who  had  read  nothing,  or  only  the  earliest  and  most 
objectionable  of  her  novels.  For  a  time,  therefore,  she  was  any  thing  but  popular, 
and  presently  fell  into  neglect.  Novel  readers  who  sought  only  for  the  sensational, 
indifferent  to  the  moral  quality  of  their  intellectual  pabulum,  were  disappointed  in 
finding  instruction  and  the  noblest  philosophy  where  they  looked  hopefully  for  pru 
riency  or  romantic  excitement ;  while  the  higher  class  of  readers  was  warned  away 
by  hearing,  in  endless  repetition,  the  charge  of  eccentricity  in  her  life,  and  dangerous 
morality  in  her  books.  Even  prejudice  has  commonly  some  foundation,  and  it  is  not 
to  be  denied  that  both  in  her  earlier  life  and  literature  there  is  much  to  reprehend* 
much,  indeed,  that  she  has  lived  herself  to  condemn,  and,  as  far  as  might  be,  to  coun 
teract.  What  all  but  a  few  failed  to  learn  was  the  sincerity,  the  benevolence,  the  deep 
philanthropy,  of  this  wonderful  woman,  who,  with  such  sad  and  disheartening  experi 
ences  of  life,  lost  no  faith  in  God  or  mankind,  and  who,  with  such  fervor  of  language 
and  eloquence  of  diction  as  no  French  woman  had  ever  before  employed,  still  kept  to 
her  work  of  trying  to  make  the  world  happier  and  better  by  inculcating  in  the  more 
vraisemble  and  fascinating  pictures  the  noblest  lessons  of  hope,  courage,  purity,  and 
practical  benevolence.  The  foregoing  remarks  were  suggested  by  the  excellent  edition 
of  the  best  of  the  novels  of  George  Sand,  remarkably  well  translated  into  English, 
which  is  now  appearing  from  the  press  of  Roberts  Brothers,  Boston.  "  Mauprat "  and 
"  Antonia  "  have  already  appeared  ;  and  others,  carefully  selected,  will  presently  follow. 
We  have  just  concluded  the  perusal  of  the  latter,  a  charming  love  story,  which  we  have 
found  no  less  attractive  t'lan  "  Mauprat ; "  and  so  commend  it  to  the  public. 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


417636 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


